


An Inconvenient Espionage

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Guns, M/M, Secret Agent!AU, alcohol use, assholes to lovers, background sakuatsu, light Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: The Miya twins are the best agents Inarizaki has ever had.Unfortunately for them, Kita disagrees.Osamu and Atsumu have fucked up one too many times, and in an attempt to tame the Miya Chaos, Kita assigns them to different partners.Osamu has spent his entire life fighting with Atsumu, but somehow Suna Rintarou is worse. Suna is scathing and sarcastic, and Osamu can hardly stand to be in the same room, much less work with him. Osamu thinks Kita's plan will backfire, because there's no possible way he can get along with Suna.It's more likely that Osamu will kill him before the job is over.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 250
Kudos: 694





	1. Chapter 1

“This is all your fault, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu pushed back his hair, wet and dripping, and sliced a scowl at his brother. “’Scuse me? I didn’t do nothin’ wrong. This one’s on you, ‘Samu.”

“The hell it is.” Osamu plucked at the front of his shirt, soaked and clammy. When he let go, it suctioned back against his stomach. “If it wasn’t for me-”

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for you, we’d be  _ dry _ .” Atsumu shoved him and Osamu nearly stumbled into a passing office worker. She gave the twins a wide berth and kept walking.

It was fortunate that the agency was already acclimated to the antics of the Miya twins. No one was ever surprised anymore. 

Not surprised, but perhaps disappointed.

“Atsumu. Osamu.” 

Both of them went still, shoes squeaking against the floor as they froze in place. They glanced at each other from the corners of their eyes and Osamu knew his brother was thinking the same thing as him.

_ Ah, shit _ .

“Kita-san.” Atsumu hitched on a smile as he turned to face Kita, his wet hair flopping back into his face. “Thought you were out today. Don’t mind us, we’re just-”

“My office,” said Kita. He spoke quietly, but his voice cut straight through Atsumu’s. “Now.”

Osamu flinched. He knew when he was in trouble, and he and Atsumu were  _ definitely _ in trouble.

“Right. Sure, Kita-san.” Atsumu glanced at Osamu, as if seeking backup, but Osamu stayed quiet. There was nothing to say. Kita must have received a report before they’d gotten back. “We’ll just get cleaned up real quick and-”

“Now,” repeated Kita. His tone left no room for argument. He turned on his heel to pace away and the twins could only watch him go.

“I’m blamin’ you,” said Atsumu, when Kita turned the corner and disappeared. “Kita-san knows you’re the irresponsible one.”

That was such a lie that Osamu didn’t bother calling him on it. “Think we’re gettin’ fired this time?”

Atsumu exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Dunno. Maybe. How long has it been since last time?”

Osamu frowned as he tried to remember. “Not long enough. Three weeks, maybe.”

“Shit.” Atsumu worried at his wet hair again. His suit was soaked through, the same as Osamu’s, and his socks squelched as he turned to walk toward Kita’s office. “No other agency is gonna hire us after this. What’re we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna apologize to Kita-san,” said Osamu, as he trailed after his brother. “Again.”

Sitting in front of Kita felt much like sitting in the principal’s office, which Osamu knew from repeated personal experience. Those occasions had also been Atsumu’s fault, the same as now.

“We didn’t know he was following us.” Atsumu’s hand gestures were wide and jerky. That meant he was nervous. “He was real quiet about it. But we realized before we got back here, so it’s not like we would’ve actually led him to the agency or anything. It’s taken care of. Everything’s fine, Kita-san.”

Kita looked from Atsumu to Osamu, expectant.

“Even if he figured it out where the agency is,” said Osamu, more calmly than his brother, “he can’t report it to anybody now. He’s gone, and we got his phone.” Osamu patted his pockets until he found it and placed the waterlogged cell on the edge of Kita’s desk. “Took the battery out so they can’t track it. Maybe we can get some stuff off of it. The guy was obviously working for a different agency. Prob’ly the one in Ishikawa, they’ve been getting brave lately.”

“So everything worked out.” Atsumu said it with a smile that was a little too weak. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

Kita sat back in his chair to consider them.

When they’d joined the agency five years ago, Kita hadn’t been in charge. He’d been their handler for a while, when they were young and new and too impulsive for their own good. He’d taught them to be good agents and Osamu knew they would’ve been fired a long time ago if Kita hadn’t watched out for them.

But now Kita was everyone’s boss, which meant he had to uphold the agency’s best interests. He couldn’t keep using favoritism to ignore the twins’ mistakes. Osamu knew that, and he didn’t expect to be on the payroll when he walked out of this office.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” repeated Kita. “What about the people who called the police to report two men trying to drown somebody in the river?”

Osamu sank down in his chair. He hadn’t thought anyone had been around when they’d confronted their stalker. It shouldn’t have been a tough fight, considering it was two against one, but the rival agent had been stronger than expected. Atsumu had been pushed into the river and he’d dragged their stalker down with him. Of course Osamu had jumped in after them. 

“We didn’t kill him until we were under the bridge.” Atsumu folded his arms and frowned down at the floor. The hems of his pants dripped onto Kita’s carpet. “Nobody could’ve seen it.”

“So all the police patrollin’ the river are just a coincidence, then,” said Kita.

Osamu wished he could sink beneath the floor. He glanced toward Atsumu, who seemed equally ashamed.

“We’re sorry, Kita-san,” mumbled Osamu, because neither of them had said it yet. 

“Yeah.” Atsumu slouched to match his brother. “We’re sorry.”

“The worst part,” said Kita, his stare unwavering, “is that he was following you for about two kilometers before you saw him. If you hadn’t been so busy arguin’ over food stalls, you would’ve noticed.”

The twins shared a look of alarm. Osamu didn’t understand how Kita knew that. There was no way he  _ could  _ know that.

“Kita-san, we-”

“Don’t.” Kita’s expression hadn’t changed during the entire conversation. Osamu wished he would yell at them; it would’ve been easier to handle. “If this was the first time somethin’ like this happened, I wouldn’t be so bothered. But it’s not, and you both know it. You get distracted too easy and one day it’s gonna get you killed.”

Osamu winced. Even if Kita was inflectionless, his disappointment was obvious. 

“I can’t let you work like this,” said Kita. “If something happens to either one of you, or if the agency gets compromised because you’re not payin’ attention, there’s no coming back from it. I have to stop it now.”

Dread weighed heavy in Osamu’s chest. Atsumu had been right. They were about to be fired, and no one else would take them. The Inarizaki Agency was the only home they’d ever had. Osamu didn’t know where they would go from here.

“You can’t work together anymore,” said Kita, the words measured. “Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. I hope you both learn somethin’ from your new partners.”

Osamu blinked. None of those words sounded like  _ you’re fired _ . He looked to Atsumu, to see if he’d heard wrong, but his brother seemed just as confused.

“Wait,” said Atsumu, speaking for both of them. “What?”

“If you make the same mistakes with someone else, I’ll know there’s no point keepin’ you around.” Kita flipped open the laptop on his desk and the light reflected from the lenses of his reading glasses as he put them on. The tap of the keyboard was rapid, final. “So don’t make the same mistakes. I should’ve fired you both a long time ago. Don’t make me regret giving you one more chance.”

“We won’t,” said Atsumu. His wet pants squeaked against the chair as he scooted to the edge, eyes bright. “We won’t let you down, Kita-san. I promise.”

“What new partners?” said Osamu.

Kita clicked a few more keys before looking up at them, head tilted to eye them over his glasses. “I’m pairin’ you up with agents who know how to focus. They do good work and don’t get distracted. I suggest you take notes.”

Osamu glanced at his brother. He’d never worked with anyone else, had never gone on a single mission with someone who wasn’t Atsumu. He didn’t get along well with other people, neither of them did. 

“Atsumu, you’ll do some jobs with the new agent who transferred in from Tokyo.” Kita adjusted his glasses and started typing again. “He hasn’t been here long, but he knows what he’s doing.”

Atsumu’s lip curled. “What, that cocky bastard with the designer suits? C’mon, Kita-san, you can’t expect me to-”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Atsumu. You’ll do it or you’ll leave the agency.”

Atsumu stopped talking but his mouth was still open. He looked like he’d been slapped. It was almost funny, until Osamu was given his own grim assignment.

“Osamu, you’ll be with the agent we got from Aichi a while back. He’s mostly done solo missions, but I think it’ll be good for him to have a partner, too.”

Although Atsumu had just been shut down for arguing, Osamu couldn’t stop himself from doing the same.

“You mean Suna?” said Osamu, appalled. “That asshole? Gimme anybody else, Kita-san. Anybody. I won’t complain, but I can’t work with-”

“Like I said.” Kita’s tone was cutting. “Do it or leave.”

Osamu fell silent, just as sullen as his brother.

“Blame me if it makes you feel better,” said Kita, “but we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t mess up so much. You’ve got potential, both of ya. That’s why I worked so hard to keep you around. But if you can’t show it, you don’t have a place here anymore. Go home and sleep on it. I’ll have your new assignments tomorrow.”

The twins mumbled their agreement and rose to leave. Atsumu paused in the doorway and said, “Sorry ‘bout your office, Kita-san. We’ll clean it up for you.”

Kita spared an idle glance for the wet chairs in front of his desk. “I’ll replace them. It’ll come out of your paychecks. Go home.”

Atsumu’s face scrunched unpleasantly, but he did as he was told. The two of them left the office and Osamu quietly closed the door behind them. They stood there in the hallway, still soaking wet, a chill beginning to settle into Osamu’s bones.

Atsumu sighed and said, “We’re fucked, huh?”

For once, Osamu couldn’t argue with him. “Yeah,” he agreed, “we’re so fucked.”

Suna Rintarou had joined the Inarizaki Agency about a year ago. He’d moved from Aichi, although it had never been clear if he’d worked at an agency there or if this was his first one. Osamu had never asked, because he’d never cared. He didn’t talk to the other agents much, and he’d gone out of his way to avoid Suna in particular. They'd only spoken a couple of times, but that was enough for Osamu to know he wanted nothing to do with Suna. He was arrogant and sarcastic and Osamu would have been perfectly content with never speaking to him again.

But he was not content with this.

“Oh, you’re early. That’s a surprise.” Suna strolled up beside Osamu and slouched against the wall. They were outside Kita’s office, where Atsumu and his new partner were currently getting their assignment. “I thought the Miyas were always late.”

They’d been together for less than ten seconds and Osamu was already annoyed. He kept his mouth shut, because he couldn’t afford to get into an argument before they’d even stepped into Kita’s office. Osamu was on the verge of getting fired already, he couldn’t cause any more problems.

“Which one are you?” asked Suna, arching a brow. “Kita-san only said I was getting a Miya. Didn’t tell me which.”

Osamu’s jaw clenched. “We don’t even look the same. Our hair’s different.”

“Is it?” Suna glanced up at Osamu’s hair, a dark contrast to Atsumu’s, and shrugged. “Never noticed.”

Osamu took a deep breath. He couldn’t start a fistfight in the hallway. Not again.

“Same faces, same personalities,” said Suna, waving a hand vaguely. “Same temper tantrums when you mess up a job. Hard to tell the difference.”

“I don’t have tantrums.” It took all of Osamu’s effort to keep his voice steady. His hands curled into fists and he shoved them safely into his pockets. “I’m not a fuckin’ kid. My brother does sometimes, yeah, but we’re not the same person.”

Suna hummed, noncommittal. “Aren’t you? Seems that way to me.”

Kita’s office door bounced open. It was perfect timing; Osamu’s temper was simmering a little too hot.

“Just ‘cause he gave  _ you _ the file doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” said Atsumu as he stomped out. “I’ve been here longer and I know what I’m doing, so you’ll be listenin’ to me.”

His new partner – Sakusa Kiyoomi, a fresh transfer from an unknown Tokyo agency – said, “If you want the job to be a success, I advise against that.”

“Fuck you,” hissed Atsumu, more quietly than he usually would have. Kita’s door was still open. “I didn’t ask, did I? We’re doin’ things my way and that’s it.” He turned away from Sakusa, gave Osamu a look that was a dangerous blend of irritation and misery, and stormed down the hallway. Sakusa followed passively behind.

At least Osamu wasn’t the only one suffering.

“Like I said.” Suna watched them go. “Temper tantrums.”

“That’s him,” said Osamu, although he couldn’t even judge Atsumu for his behavior. He’d been provoked, the same way Suna was provoking him. “Not me.”

“From what I hear, all Miyas are the same.” Suna drifted past him to approach Kita’s office. “Come on, Osamu. Let’s get our briefing over with.”

Osamu took a step to follow but paused. “I thought you didn’t know which one I am.”

Suna glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Figured it out.”

Osamu wanted to hit him. Instead he stepped into Kita’s office to accept his fate.

Osamu had gone through a lot of briefings during his time at the agency and they’d all been the same: sitting in front of Kita’s desk with Atsumu, flipping through whatever file they were given, and memorizing every word Kita said so they would be prepared for anything that came their way. Even if some of their jobs didn’t go well, the briefings were always fine. 

Osamu had a feeling that anything with Suna around would not be fine.

“This job is collecting information,” said Kita. He passed a file across the desk – to Suna, not Osamu. “No conflict, no casualties. Get in, get what we need, and get out. The gettin’ in will be the hard part. You’ll have to find a way into the mansion. The Kondos are having a fancy event in three days so get yourselves invited by then. Sneakin’ in won’t work, their security is too good. I’ve already looked into it.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Suna. He looked through the file, eyes tracking back and forth over the neatly typed notes. “This is in Aichi. I know plenty of people there. I’ll get us in.”

Kita inclined his head. “That’s why I’m givin’ you the job. Thought it’d be easy for you.”

Osamu looked between them. No one had said a word directly to him since they’d entered Kita’s office. “What kinda information are we lookin’ for?”

“It’s all in here.” Suna snapped the file shut. “We can talk about it on the way.”

“Take a car,” said Kita. He placed a single key on his desk and pushed it toward them. Suna took it as if this was expected, but Osamu was baffled.

Kita never let him and Atsumu have an agency car.

As if reading his mind, Kita said, “Don’t drive it, Osamu. You and your brother have crashed enough civilian vehicles that I don’t want you wreckin’ mine, too.”

“I’m a great driver,” insisted Osamu. “It’s ‘Tsumu who always runs into stuff. I haven’t wrecked a car in months.”

“Well I haven’t wrecked a car in my life,” said Suna, pocketing the key, “so I think I’ll drive. Sounds safer that way.”

Osamu ground his teeth together. He couldn’t say what he was thinking, not in front of Kita.

“Report back if anything goes wrong,” said Kita as he returned his attention to his laptop, “but I expect it won’t. I also expect the two of you to get along, for the sake of the job.”

Osamu glanced over to find Suna already looking at him, expressionless. 

“Sure,” said Osamu. He wondered if the animosity was so obvious that Kita had felt it on the air. He tried to lie convincingly as he added, “We’ll get along.”

“Good. Get goin’, it’s a long drive.”

Suna rose to leave the office and Osamu reluctantly did the same. Before they made it out to the hallway, Kita said, “Osamu.”

Osamu looked back at him.

Kita eyed him over the frame of his reading glasses. “No conflict, no casualties.”

“Yeah,” said Osamu. “I’ve got it, Kita-san.”

Kita said nothing else, but his stare was heavy until Osamu left the office and shut the door behind him. 

Osamu sighed. He wasn’t even mad that Kita called him out. When he and Atsumu went on a job, any kind of job, someone often died.

“Ready to head out?” asked Suna. The file was tucked against his side, as if it belonged only to him.

“Yeah,” mumbled Osamu. “Let’s go pack a bag. I’ll meet ya back here in an hour.”

Suna’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t bring a travel bag with you?”

“’Course not. Didn’t know we’d be goin’ outta town. Kita-san didn’t tell us until just now.”

“You should always have a bag ready. It’s good to be prepared.” 

Osamu’s stare went narrow. “Where’s yours, then?”

“Down the hall, in my office,” said Suna, jerking his chin in that direction. “Don’t you keep one here?”

Osamu didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. It was obvious.

Suna hummed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Run on home then, I guess I can wait for you, if you hurry. I’ll make some coffee.” He turned on his heel and walked off in the direction of the breakroom. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Osamu’s hands were fists again. He cursed Suna under his breath and wondered if he could last three days without punching him. 

When they finally arrived in Aichi Prefecture, Osamu decided three days was impossible. He’d barely survived the three hour drive.

Suna had spent most of it on his phone, talking to his contacts in Aichi. Osamu tried to listen, but when the first conversation dragged for half an hour and Suna was still talking about the sordid lives of his old high school classmates, Osamu tuned him out and studied the file instead.

Kita’s files were always thorough. There were photos of their target, Kondo Kichirou, along with his wife Juri. There was an entire floorplan of their mansion, built four years ago on the outskirts of Nagoya. Near the back of the documents there was even a copy of the Kondos’ bank statements and Osamu slapped the file shut so he didn’t have to see how disgustingly rich they were. 

That was the reason for this job. The Kondos had gotten very rich very fast, and someone was giving Kita a lot of money to discover how they’d done it. 

“Thanks for the help, Gin,” said Suna brightly, his tone significantly different than the one he used when speaking to Osamu. “We’ll have to get dinner and catch up sometime. Yeah, no problem. I’ll tell my new boss you’re interested, he’d probably give you a shot. Okay, sure. See you.” Suna ended the call and dropped his phone into an empty cupholder, eyes still on the road. “Are you sulking because Kita-san likes me more?”

“He does  _ not _ ,” snapped Osamu, his grip going tight around the edges of the file. “I’ve worked with him for years, before he was even in charge of the agency.”

Suna hummed. “That must hurt worse then, knowing I’ve only been here for a year and he already trusts me more than you.”

Osamu gritted his teeth and cut a glare out the window. They were in Aichi now, on the freeway headed toward Nagoya. It had taken Osamu a lot of time to get comfortable working in Kobe, and Nagoya was even bigger.

“Don’t take it too hard,” said Suna. His voice curved in a way that sounded like a smirk, but when Osamu glanced at him, Suna’s expression was flat. “I have more experience than you.”

“We’ve been with Inarizaki for five years,” said Osamu.

Suna shrugged one shoulder. “Like I said. More experience.”

He was lying. He must have been. The Miyas had joined up when they were twenty-one, and that was drastically too young for this kind of work. They’d been the kids of the agency back then.

Osamu squinted at Suna. They must have been the same age. If anything, Suna looked younger. If he’d been doing the job longer, that would have put him joining an agency in his teenage years, which was ridiculous. No teenager was skilled enough to be an agent, and no agency was stupid enough to hire them.

“What are you looking at?” said Suna, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Do you think I’m pretty? That’s sweet.”

Osamu turned away immediately. “I think you’re pretty fuckin’ terrible.”

“Sure.” Suna was unbothered. “Anyway, I know how to get us into that party on Saturday. You might not like it – or hell, maybe you will – but it’s the best way.”

“So you’re just makin’ the plan without me?” said Osamu. “We’re s’posed to be working together.”

“We both know Kita-san only paired us up to keep you out of trouble. I could do this job just fine on my own.” Suna switched lanes and pulled to a smooth stop at a light. 

If Atsumu had been driving, he would’ve stopped hard enough to send Osamu flying through the windshield. Osamu wasn’t much better.

“That means I could do it on my own, too,” said Osamu. He sank back in his seat and folded his arms. “You’re sayin’ that like I need you or something. I don’t.”

“When was the last time you did a solo job?” asked Suna. 

Osamu chewed at the inside of his cheek and didn’t answer. He’d never worked a job without Atsumu but he wasn’t about to say that.

The light changed and Suna eased the car forward. “For tonight, we’ll do some light reconnaissance and check into a hotel. Nothing will really happen until tomorrow.”

Osamu waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, prompted, “What happens tomorrow?”

“We find Kondo.” Suna flicked a glance at the rearview mirror and then at Osamu. “I know where he spends most of his time. He’ll invite us to that party himself.”

“How?”

Suna’s smile was a sharp curve of his mouth. “You’ll see.”

They spent another hour and a half in the car, stuck in mid-evening Nagoya traffic. Their casual drive-by of the Kondo Mansion was brief, and Osamu snapped approximately thirty pictures on his phone as Suna slowly drove past. 

“Kita-san’s photos weren’t enough?” asked Suna, as he steered back toward the city. 

“Just bein’ cautious.”

Suna rolled his eyes, but Osamu turned the radio up to drown out whatever sarcastic comment Suna would inevitably make.

Forty minutes later they arrived at a hotel that was nearly as classy as the Kondo mansion. Osamu stared up at it, open-mouthed, as Suna pulled up to the front door and waved over a valet.

“There’s no way Kita-san will pay for this,” said Osamu. He’d been scolded on plenty of occasions for spending too much of the agency’s money on nice dinners. If the Miyas had tried to stay in a place like this, Kita would’ve buried them.

“Sure he will,” said Suna, unconcerned. He popped open his car door. “Get out and get your bag. Stop acting like you’ve never seen working electricity before, it’s suspicious.”

Osamu turned to glare at him but Suna was already gone, a fresh-faced valet swooping in to take his place. Osamu climbed out of the car, paused to grab his bag out of the backseat, and hitched it over his shoulder. Suna stepped up beside him – his suitcase had  _ wheels _ , the asshole – and said, “Straighten up your jacket. We need to look like we have money so this is believable. When we go in, wait by the door. I’ll get everything booked.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“No, but Kita-san is, and he would tell you to do as I say.” Suna started for the front door, pulling his suitcase behind him.

Osamu wanted to tackle him onto the asphalt and punch that stupid look off of his face.

Instead he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and kept his mouth shut as he followed.

The chandelier in the hotel lobby was worth more than the past two years of Osamu’s paychecks. That was a statement, considering how well the agency paid him. He drifted off toward a span of abstract paintings that lined a seating area and watched the front desk from the corner of his eye. Suna strode up to the receptionist, and although Osamu had wandered too far to hear, he knew Suna was being overly friendly. The receptionist smiled at him, her cheeks going a little bright as she tapped away at her computer. 

Osamu was annoyed by it. He didn’t understand how anyone could think Suna was actually charming.

It was only a moment before Suna waved Osamu over. He reluctantly went, and Suna thanked the receptionist one more time before leading the way toward the elevators. Osamu glanced back just before they boarded one and found the receptionist staring at the pair of them. He didn’t understand why and decided it wasn’t important.

“When we get bitched out for spending too much money, I’m blamin’ you,” said Osamu. He dropped his bag onto the elevator floor. His shoulder ached from the bite of the strap. 

“When this job is a success because we stayed here,” said Suna, “I’m taking the credit.”

“What does stayin’ here have to do with-”

The elevator dinged, and Suna and his stupid rolling suitcase exited. Osamu huffed as he scooped up his bag to follow.

They stopped at a door halfway down the hall. Suna swiped a keycard and the door beeped as it unlocked. He pushed it open, and Osamu said, “Gimme the key to my room.”

Suna rolled his suitcase through the doorway. “This is your room.”

Osamu caught the door before Suna let it shut in his face. “Then why’re you in it?”

Suna gave him a flat look. “We’re sharing, obviously. We have to. It’s part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“My plan. The one that will get this job done. Either come in or sleep in the hallway, I really couldn’t care less.”

Osamu again stifled the urge to hit him. He shouldered his way through and the door slapped shut behind him. It was an impressive room, nice enough that Osamu would have spent several minutes admiring it if a particular detail hadn’t immediately demanded his attention.

Osamu stood just inside the doorway, his bag digging into his shoulder, and said, “There’s only one bed.”

“So you can count. What a relief.” Suna rolled his suitcase across the room and sank into the plush chair by the wide windows. “If we got two beds, it would be suspicious.”

“Suspicious to  _ who _ ?”

“Just trust me.” Suna lounged back, arms behind his head. “It’s all part of the plan.”

“What fuckin’  _ plan _ ?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Relax and order something from room service.” Suna nodded toward the small table in the corner. “I got us a discount from the front desk.”

A menu book branded with the hotel logo was propped upright in the middle of the table. Osamu almost stepped toward it, but stopped himself. Sure, the hotel was so fancy that the food must be amazing, but he couldn’t be distracted that easily.

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you,” he said. “There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“I never said you had to.” Suna sighed and pushed to his feet again. He moved past Osamu to scoop up the menu. “If you don’t want anything, I’ll just order for myself.”

Osamu snatched it out of his hand. “I do want somethin’. I want a lot of somethin’. And when Kita-san sees the room service bill, I’m blaming that on you, too.”

As expected, the food was excellent. 

Osamu ate both of the meals he ordered, and not for the first time, was disappointed that Atsumu wasn’t with him. He couldn’t eat off of Suna’s plate the way he would’ve done with his brother.

Suna finished his smaller meal first and went to take a shower. Osamu didn’t comment. He’d barely said a word to Suna other than “I’ll get it” when room service knocked at the door. 

Suna emerged twenty minutes later, when Osamu was considering the dessert page of the hotel menu. Osamu glanced up at him, back down at the artful variety of pastries, and quickly back up again.

Suna’s hair was still damp, the ends curling messily. He wore only a fluffy white hotel robe, cinched at the waist and open halfway down his chest. 

“It’s all yours,” said Suna.

Osamu forced himself to look away. “’Kay.” He slapped the menu shut, tossed it onto the table, and grabbed his bag to take into the bathroom. He pretended Suna didn’t exist. 

Suna wasn’t hot. He had the potential to be if he was less of a dick, but it was impossible for someone who was that much of an asshole to be appealing in any way. Even if they had a particularly well-muscled chest. 

The bathtub doubled as a shower, and that was the option Osamu chose. It was faster, and he didn’t think he could relax enough while sharing a hotel room with Suna Rintarou to enjoy a bath. After showering and drying, he redressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Unlike Suna, he wasn’t eager to swagger around half-dressed in front of a veritable stranger, especially not one that he hated. He brushed his teeth, dried his hair, and went back into the main area of the room to find Suna already in bed.

The one solitary bed.

Osamu stared at him. Suna was so absorbed by something on his phone screen that it took him a moment to notice.

“Can I help you?” asked Suna, refocusing on his phone.

“I toldja I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you.”

“And I said no one is making you.” Suna shrugged. “I got a king suite so there would be enough room to pretend you’re not here. If you roll into my space I’ll kick you. If that’s not good enough for you, sleep on the floor.”

“You should sleep on the floor, then. It’s not fair you get a bed and I don’t.”

“Nobody said you don’t get one.” Suna scrolled on his phone. “There’s room. If you don’t want to sleep here, that’s on you.”

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t have two-”

“It’s part of the plan.”

“Fuck your plan.” Osamu wondered how mad Kita would be if he showed back up in Hyogo before the job was finished. Very, probably. 

“Tell me your plan then,” said Suna calmly. “If it’s better, we’ll switch.”

That wasn’t fair. Osamu knew nothing about Aichi, and he didn’t even know any of the information that Suna had gotten from his contacts. All he had was the information in Kita’s file, and while he could’ve done the job just fine with only that, it would have taken a lot of investigating and a lot of time. Even Osamu had to admit that it was smart to send Suna on this job, to a city he already knew.

Osamu just didn’t know why he’d been forced to join him.

“Fine,” said Osamu. He stomped toward the bed and Suna glanced up, surprised. 

Osamu made eye contact with Suna, grabbed a handful of the fluffy duvet, and yanked it clear off the bed.

Suna seized the thin sheet underneath to keep it from peeling off with the duvet. He still wore only the hotel robe. “What are you doing?”

“Goin’ to bed,” said Osamu. He draped the duvet over his shoulders and dragged it toward the bathroom. “I hope you have an awful night.”

Suna said something back, but Osamu was already in the bathroom and he kicked the door shut before he could hear it.

The tub was still wet, and Osamu used a couple of spare towels to wipe it down. He turned off the bathroom light, felt his way across the room blindly, and wrapped himself tightly in the duvet before crawling into the bathtub. It wasn’t comfortable, but it also wasn’t the worst place he’d slept. He belatedly realized he should’ve gotten a pillow too, but he wasn’t about to embarrass himself by going back for one. Instead he pulled his shirt off, balled it up behind his head, and closed his eyes to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later he gave up and checked his phone instead.

There was a narrative of texts from Atsumu that he’d seen but ignored. He’d been busy dealing with his own problems, and none of Atsumu’s texts had been an emergency. Osamu reread them now, and he would’ve laughed at his brother’s complaints if he didn’t have so many of his own.

The most recent message was from half an hour ago.

_ I’m gonna kill him. I really am, Samu, I’m not kidding. He disinfected the entire hotel room when we got here. It took an hour. Ordering dinner was almost impossible because he thinks every restaurant is gonna poison him or something. He’s fucking crazy and I’m gonna kill him. Will you break me out of jail? _

Maybe the Miyas constantly argued while on their jobs, but that was just how they did things. Arguing with anyone else was different, and not in a good way.

_ I can’t _ , Osamu typed back.  _ I’ll be in jail with you, cause I’m gonna kill this asshole, too. _


	2. Chapter 2

Osamu dreamed about driving. He was on a road he didn’t recognize, with no clear destination in mind. He adjusted the radio but every channel was Atsumu’s voice, complaining about snow even though the sky was clear. Osamu blinked and realized he was driving to a restaurant, a good one, although he didn’t remember the name of it or what kind of food they served. It didn’t matter. He had a goal, a purpose, and he couldn’t wait to-

“Hey. Miya.”  _ Thud _ . “Wake up. I need the bathroom.”

Osamu groaned, tried to roll over, and thumped his head against the edge of the tub. 

“You have fifteen seconds,” said Suna. “If you’re not gone, I’ll use it anyway. I’m not shy.”

Osamu sat upright, still wrapped tightly in the duvet. He rubbed the heel of his hand against one eye, blinked a few times, and looked up at Suna. “Huh?”

“Does your brain reset when you sleep? Do you stop understanding Japanese? I don’t have time to re-teach you a whole language today, Miya. We have stuff to do. Move.”

If Osamu hadn’t been so tired and confused, he would have been insulted by that. He braced a hand on the edge of the tub and stood, the duvet sliding off of his bare shoulders as he stepped out onto the floor. Suna watched him, eyes sharp, as Osamu dragged his feet out of the bathroom. The door snapped shut as soon as he was out and Osamu was left staring blankly at the hotel room, slowly remembering the day before.

Osamu didn’t know what time it was, but he did know he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. He was too groggy, and the light beyond the curtained windows was too pale. He shuffled across the room, the carpet warm against the soles of his feet, and pushed the sheets back on the unrumpled side of the bed. It was softer than any bed had a right to be, especially after hours of lying in a bathtub. He stretched out, closed his eyes, and was asleep within seconds.

And it felt like only seconds before he was woken up again.

“You sleep like you’re dead, you know that?” The bed shook. Osamu hardly felt it. “If someone broke in to kill us, you wouldn’t even flinch.”

“I’d let ‘em kill you,” mumbled Osamu, the words mostly lost in his pillow.

“I didn’t catch that but it sounded like an insult.” The bed jolted again. Suna must have kicked it. “Come on, it’s noon. Your breakfast is cold.”

Osamu blinked his eyes open. Suna stood over him, fully dressed, arms folded across his chest. Osamu slowly pushed himself up, the sheet falling to gather at his waist. The curtains were open now and the glare of the sun suggested it really was noon. Osamu didn’t know how long he’d been asleep.

“We don’t have to be anywhere until around six,” said Suna, stepping back as Osamu slipped his legs out of bed, “but there are some other stops to make before then. Dress nice, we need to pass for rich.”

“Rich. Right.” Osamu shook hair out of his eyes and reevaluated Suna. He wore a pair of dark slacks, ironed with a perfect crease, and a button-down shirt open at his collarbones. He’d done something to tame his hair and it was pushed neatly away from his face. Osamu didn’t think he looked rich, but maybe that was because he’d seen Suna strutting around in a borrowed bathrobe yesterday.

“Did you even bring any nice clothes?” asked Suna, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you  _ own _ nice clothes?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do.” Osamu pushed himself to his feet and rubbed at his eyes again. “I brought a suit. Gimme a few.”

“A suit crammed into that bag you dragged along? Great.”

“It’s the no wrinkle kind. Bought it special.” Osamu circled the end of the bed, a little clumsily, and started toward his bag. He didn’t make it; he was sidetracked by the silver dome on the table. That hadn’t been there earlier. “Thought you were kiddin’ about breakfast.”

“I wasn’t. I ordered for you. Your mood seems to get worse when you don’t eat and I can’t deal with that today. You’re already bad enough when you’re neutral.” Suna plucked a suit jacket off the back of a chair and pulled it on. “I’m going downstairs to talk to the receptionist. We need her to know us, in case someone checks up with the hotel.”

“Why would somebody check up?”

“It’s part of the plan.” Instead of elaborating, Suna simply stepped into his shoes and left the hotel room. The door snapped behind him.

Osamu rolled his eyes and lifted the dome on the table. His expectations were low. He thought Suna would have ordered him the cheapest thing on the menu out of spite, or picked bites out of Osamu’s meal, or gotten him something terrible like a yogurt cup.

But what Osamu got was yakizakana over rice, a bowl of tofu miso, and a side plate with two tuna onigiri.

Osamu stared at it, looked back toward the door where Suna had left, and then at the food again. Despite the warning, the meal wasn’t even cold. It was still warm when Osamu took the first bite, and he thought Suna must have ordered it right before he woke Osamu up.

Maybe Suna was trying to be nice. That would be a first, and Osamu was suspicious of his motives. As blatantly rude as Suna had been since the first time they’d met, Osamu couldn’t imagine him growing a better personality overnight.

It was probably like Suna had said. He thought if Osamu was hungry he would be harder to deal with, and Osamu couldn’t even say he was wrong. He didn’t operate well on an empty stomach, although he wasn’t sure how Suna knew that. 

Osamu decided, as he scooped up the bowl of miso, that it didn’t matter. He’d gotten breakfast either way, and if Kita complained about the expenses, Osamu would continue to blame Suna.

Suna clearly had a plan. It was a very elaborate plan; too elaborate for Osamu to figure out based on their seemingly random stops throughout the day. They went to the business district and spent an hour chatting with an overly enthusiastic realtor about the current housing market in Nagoya. They went to the fanciest jewelry store that Osamu had ever seen and he wandered around looking at diamonds worth more than his entire apartment complex while Suna leaned on the counter and talked to the jeweler. Most importantly, they went downtown and Suna parked on the side of the street to wait while Osamu ordered skewers of yakitori from a street vendor. 

Osamu climbed back into the car with a handful of skewers and a clump of napkins. He offered some to Suna, who shook his head without looking away from his phone.

Osamu shrugged and ate. He watched people pass by on the sidewalk, some in business suits and some in casual attire. It felt a lot like Kobe but more somehow. Maybe it was the size of the city, or maybe the unfamiliarity. Regardless, Osamu wished this job was back in Hyogo instead. Maybe then he could contribute instead of relying on whatever plan Suna had worked out.

And Osamu still didn’t know the plan. An early sunset was beginning, they’d been working this job for over twenty-four hours, and he had no idea how they were getting into the mansion. Osamu had asked once that morning after the realtor’s office, but when Suna had declined to tell him, Osamu hadn’t bothered asking again. He’d spent most of their ventures in silence, because that was easier than holding a polite conversation with someone like Suna.

“How’s your alcohol tolerance?” asked Suna.

Osamu’s eyebrows rose. “Huh?”

“Are you a lightweight?”

“Uh. No.” Osamu took another bite, the skewer grazing his teeth.

“Good,” said Suna. He clicked off his phone screen and sat back against the driver’s seat, sliding a glance at Osamu. “We’ll have to drink to fit in at the bar. I can’t have more than three so I’ll have to swap glasses with you a couple of times so it looks like I’m drinking more than I actually am.”

“Oh.” Osamu hadn’t even known they were going to a bar. “Why?”

Suna’s jaw twitched. “I can’t hold my liquor. It’s my only weakness. I’m perfect, otherwise.”

Osamu snorted. “Right. Perfect isn’t the word I would use.”

“I’ll need you to pretend you don’t hate me while we’re there,” said Suna. He flipped down the visor overhead and dug in his pocket. “I’m guessing you have some acting skills or you wouldn’t have made it this far with the agency.”

“Why does it matter if I hate you or not? You obviously hate me too. I dunno what that has to do with anything, or why you can’t just… is that eyeliner?”

Suna’s hand was steady as he traced a neat line along his eyelid. He blinked at himself in the small mirror, turned his head to one side and then the other, and started on the other eye. “Yeah. It’s part of the plan.”

“The plan is  _ eyeliner _ ?” 

“The plan is for me to look like Kondo Kichirou’s wet dream.” Suna leaned back, eyes slipping back and forth as he studied his work. He made a small adjustment and added, “Unless you want the role of the flirty twink. Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing, but don’t let me stop you.”

Osamu stared at him. He was so bemused that he wasn’t sure they were even talking about the same job anymore. 

Suna sighed and slipped the liner back into his pocket. He shifted in his seat to face Osamu and his eyes were so much sharper that it took Osamu a moment to focus on what he was saying. “We have to get invited to the mansion, and we have to get upstairs, where we’ll find the information Kita-san needs. My contact said Kondo is gay as hell and he has a bad habit of taking pretty boys under his wing. Well, into his bed. That’s a better way to put it.”

“But… he’s married. To a woman.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not gay. Maybe he’s even bi, I don’t know. But I do know he likes men and he likes them a lot.” Suna glanced at himself in the mirror one more time before flipping the visor back up. “I’m not his ideal type, but I should be close enough. It’s not like I can get younger and shorter. Luckily he’s tall too, shouldn’t be a dealbreaker.”

Osamu should have been relieved that Suna was finally sharing his plan, but he was too confused. “So you’re gonna… what? Flirt with him?”

“No, he’ll flirt with me.”

“How’re you gonna-”

“Kondo likes young, pretty men,” said Suna, dipping into a different pocket, “and he likes what he can’t have.” Suna extended a hand, palm-up. He held a pair of plain silver bands. “When he realizes I’m married he’ll be all over me.”

Osamu blinked at the rings and asked, dumbly, “You’re married?”

Suna stared flatly back at him. “Honestly how have you lived this long? I thought you were a little smarter than your brother but clearly I was wrong. I should’ve chosen him instead.”

“Fuck you,” huffed Osamu. “It’s not my fault you won’t just tell me what’s goin’ on. If you’d actually filled me in about the plan instead of being all weird and keepin’ secrets maybe I would…” Osamu trailed off, paused. “Wait. You picked me over ‘Tsumu? Like on purpose?”

“You seemed marginally less annoying,” said Suna. “Give me your hand. Your other hand, genius.”

Osamu discarded the depleted yakitori skewers onto the dash and thrust out his left hand. Suna flipped it over, his fingers warm as they grazed Osamu’s wrist. He took one of the rings, the larger one, and slipped it onto Osamu’s fourth finger. It was snug, but it fit well. Osamu stared down at it, almost asked a question, and came to the proper realization as Suna put on his own matching ring.

“…oh.” Osamu curled his hand into a fist and relaxed it again. He’d never worn a ring, or any other jewelry, really. It felt strange.

“We don’t have to be touchy or romantic or anything,” said Suna. He flexed his hand, as if it was a foreign feeling for him, too. “It would be too obvious if we were. We go in and act normal, get some drinks, and talk like we’re friends. Kondo will notice us. This is his bar and he’s here mostly every night, he notices everyone who goes in or out.”

Osamu dropped his hand into his lap. “What happens when he notices us?”

“I’ll make him want me,” said Suna. He leaned over to check his hair in the rearview mirror. “He won’t even know I’m doing it. All you have to do is act normal. Pay for my drinks, maybe whisper in my ear every now and then. And stay neutral when Kondo starts talking to us, you don’t want to come off as the jealous type or he might back off.”

“I thought you said he likes what he can’t have.”

“Yeah, but I doubt he’ll try to fuck me if he thinks my husband might cut his throat.” Suna slouched back in his seat again. “You get intimidating when you’re mad. You might scare him away.”

Osamu considered that. He liked to think he was intimidating when he was killing someone, but he didn’t think he came off that way any other time.

“Call me Rin.” Suna straightened the collar of his jacket. “I’ll introduce us by our given names and only give our fake surnames if he asks. When it gets close to the end of the night I’ll need fifteen minutes alone with him to get our invitation. Excuse yourself to the bathroom. If you don’t pick up on the conversational cues I’ll kick you or something.”

Osamu didn’t like missions like this. He preferred the ones when he could go in shooting. “Okay.”

“And like I said before, you have to pretend you don’t hate me, and you have to be convincing.” Suna’s stare was sharp. “It’s all over if you can’t do that.”

“Yeah, I got it. It’s not my first job.” Although it was his first job like  _ this _ , because the most difficult acting that he and Atsumu had done was going several hours without fighting. Even that had been tough.

“If you notice anything wrong, lean in and tell me quietly. That’s a normal thing for lovers to do.” Suna started the car, stared at his hands on the wheel – the ring looked strange on his hand, the same way Osamu’s did – and merged into traffic. 

It was a short drive to the bar and Osamu spent it fiddling with his fingers. He wasn’t nervous. Of course he wasn’t. He’d faced life or death situations on more occasions than he could remember. Pretending to be married to Suna for one night was nothing.

He stole a glance at Suna, who stared straight ahead.

Osamu understood why he’d used the eyeliner. That would get anyone’s attention. 

Osamu realized upon arrival that his idea of a bar was vastly different from Kondo’s. There were no drunkards smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk and no stench of cheap beer when they passed through the front door. There was low music – classy, not the blaring gritty shit that Osamu was used to – and the polished wooden floors were spotlessly clean. The crowd was light, and it was obvious from a glance that everyone here had more money than Osamu.

“Would you take this to the coat check for me?” asked Suna, as he slipped off his jacket. “It’s there, in the corner. I’ll wait for you at the bar.”

“Yeah, okay.” Osamu folded Suna’s coat over his arm and watched him cross the room, tall and confident and drawing the eyes of everyone in the near vicinity. There was no sign of Kondo, but there were tables further back that Osamu couldn’t see. It was possible he was there somewhere. 

Osamu went to the coat check as requested. He tucked the paper receipt into his pocket, declined the offer to take his coat also, and went to the bar.

Suna had chosen a stool on the long edge of the three-sided bar. The seats on either side of him were empty, and Osamu chose the one in the corner, where no one else would sit next to him.

“I ordered a drink for you.” Suna propped his elbows on the edge of the marble-topped counter. It was so polished that it reflected the blurred shapes of the room. Suna leaned a little closer and added, “And if you don’t want it you have to drink it anyway, because as your husband, I should know what you like.”

Osamu stopped himself from rolling his eyes, which was the hardest thing he’d done all day. “I drink mostly anything. It’ll be fine.”

Suna smiled at him. 

Osamu knew it was only for appearances, in case someone was watching them. It must have been, because until now, Suna had only smiled at him in a mocking sort of way.

But this smile wasn’t mocking. It was soft and stunning and Osamu averted his eyes as the bartender approached with their drinks.

Suna had ordered them both the same thing, likely so he could switch out their drinks without attracting any attention. Osamu reached for his and ice clinked against the short glass. 

“You like whiskey?” asked Osamu, skeptical.

“No.” Suna raised his drink. “I don’t like any alcohol, so I figured I should at least get something you enjoy.”

Blankly, Osamu clinked his glass against Suna’s in a wordless toast. “How’d you know I like whiskey?”

Suna shrugged and took a sip. His face didn’t change. “Intuition. You look like you drink whiskey.”

Osamu considered that. “Was that an insult or a compliment?”

“Whichever you want it to be.”

Osamu huffed a laugh and tipped back his glass.

Pretending to be on a date with Suna was surprisingly easy. If Osamu had known yesterday that they would be doing this, he wouldn’t have thought it was possible. He probably would have refused and insisted that they find a different way to get into the party. Suna must have known that, and it was likely why he’d refused to tell Osamu about his plan until the last possible moment. 

It wasn’t as bad as Osamu would have expected, and nearly an hour into the ‘date’, he had almost forgotten they were there on a job.

“It was pitch black outside, we couldn’t see nothin’, and ‘Tsumu still took off running after the guy,” said Osamu, grinning as he recounted the memory. Suna had asked him to tell a story, one they could laugh at, and Osamu had plenty of those. “I heard him cussin’ and stumblin’ around and I tried to go after him but I kept trippin’ over bushes and stuff. I finally get to the edge of the field and there’s a gunshot, and I hear ‘Tsumu yelling that he got the guy.” Osamu laughed to himself and wished his brother was here. He loved telling this story when Atsumu was around. It always pissed him off. “I catch up to him and he’s dancin’ around saying what a good shot it was. And yeah, it was a good shot. He got that scarecrow right through the fuckin’ heart and it took us a week to find our guy again.”

Suna laughed, loud and clear and with gentle crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He leaned into Osamu’s shoulder, just briefly, before reaching for his drink again.

Osamu was a little disoriented, but quickly remembered they were acting when a voice spoke behind them.

“Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Suna and Osamu swiveled on their stools. Behind them, with a fancy suit and a rattlesnake smile, was Kondo Kichirou. 

If there was any doubt, or if Kita hadn’t given them thirty photos from various angles, it was confirmed when the man said, “I’m Kondo. Allow me to welcome you to my bar. It’s a pleasure.”

Osamu glanced at Suna, whose smile was instant and seemingly genuine. “The pleasure is ours. I’m Rin.” His eyes darted to Osamu and away again. “This is Osamu. It’s a very nice place, thanks for the welcome.”

“Happy to have you,” said Kondo. His voice was crystal clear, like the glass in Osamu’s hand. His stare lingered on Suna and then Osamu, appraising the pair of them. “Let me buy you a drink, for your first visit. It must be your first visit here, am I right? I would have remembered the two of you.” He made a gesture at the bartender, who immediately stopped what he was doing to get two fresh whiskeys. 

“You’re too kind,” said Suna. His smile curved a little higher. “It is our first visit. Only our second night in the city, actually. We’re thinking of moving to Nagoya. Thought we’d spend a week here and see how we liked it.”

“Oh?” Kondo’s stare dipped, and Osamu was almost certain he was looking at the flash of Suna’s collarbones. Suna had popped another button before they’d entered, and Osamu now realized why. “Why don’t the two of you join me at my private table? Tell me how you like the city so far. I can give you some excellent recommendations.”

Suna looked to Osamu, as if seeking permission, and said, “It would be an honor, thank you, Kondo-san.”

Kondo seemed far too smug as Suna addressed him. Osamu had an urge to kick him. Instead he took the fresh drink that had just been passed across the counter and raised it to his mouth. 

“Right this way, then,” said Kondo, stepping back to wave them toward the back of the bar. “I’ll have someone fetch some appetizers from the restaurant down the street. It’s one of the best Michelin-stars in Nagoya. I know the head chef personally, he’s a close friend.”

“That’s impressive,” said Suna, and he sounded like he meant it. “We drove by there earlier, didn’t we, ‘Samu?”

The shortened form of his name in Suna’s voice was startling, but Osamu kept his expression neutral as he agreed, “Yeah, we did. Looked real nice.”

“Nice indeed,” said Kondo, still eyeing Suna. “Very nice.

Osamu took a breath and resigned himself to a long, uncomfortable evening. 

Osamu hadn’t lied when he said he could hold his alcohol. He’d gotten plenty of practice in his younger years, when he and Atsumu had constant contests to see who could outdrink the other. They’d slowed down once they’d joined the agency, but they still had frequent nights out when Osamu couldn’t always remember how they’d gotten home.

Osamu had a high tolerance, but after three hours at the bar – and three of Suna’s drinks discreetly swapped when Kondo wasn’t looking – he was starting to feel the whiskey.

“We’ve been married for a year now,” Suna was saying, his voice distant although he was right beside Osamu, close enough that their elbows touched. “Eloped, obviously.” He smiled, glancing down in a way that was almost shy. “Actually, we only got rings earlier today.” He spread his hand on the table, the silver band glimmering in the overhead lights. “Things are tougher, back home. We can’t be open. That’s part of the reason we’d like to move. Nagoya seems more…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “Diverse, I suppose.”

Kondo hummed in agreement. He’d hardly looked away from Suna at all during the past few hours. “It’s more diverse than some cities. Not ideal, but nowhere is, really. It’s about surrounding yourself with the right people.” He grinned, and Osamu thought about knocking his perfect teeth out. “And you’ve found the right people.”

Osamu reached for more food. He wasn’t hungry anymore, but he hoped it would bring down his blood alcohol content.

“I think you’d fit in great here,” continued Kondo, still focused on Suna. He leaned his elbows on to the table, eyes bright. “I could introduce you to lots of good people. I know everyone who matters.”

Suna shifted in his seat, just slightly. Osamu pretended not to notice. He was surprised he noticed at all, as much as his head was swimming. Kondo was touching Suna beneath the table, he must have been. He was running his foot up Suna’s calf probably, to see what kind of reaction he could get.

Suna casually shifted his chair closer to the table and stretched a leg closer to Kondo. “I’m not surprised. It seems like you’re really important around here.”

Osamu couldn’t see it, but he knew Kondo’s foot was rubbing up Suna’s leg.

This was good. It meant the plan was working. 

Osamu took his last drink of whiskey.

“Would you like another?” asked Kondo, still not looking away from Suna. “I’ll have the bartender bring it.”

“No, ‘m good,” said Osamu. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure, ‘Samu?” asked Suna. He flicked a glance at Osamu, his eyes clear and present and the opposite of how Osamu felt. “Kondo-san doesn’t mind. He’s been very generous to us.”

“Yeah, he has,” agreed Osamu. He tried to sound a little friendly as he added, “Ya know I get tired when I drink a lot. Don’t wanna fall asleep ‘fore we get back to the hotel.”

“What about you, Rin?” said Kondo, carefully shaping the name with his lips. “Let me buy you one more.”

Suna’s eyes went a little hooded as he smiled back. 

Before Suna could answer, Osamu leaned in close, his mouth nearly touching Suna’s ear as he murmured, “If you get another one you’ll be drinkin’ it yourself. I’m ‘bout to pass out.”

Suna chuckled, as if Osamu had said something amusing. Suna gave Kondo a coy glance and said, “He’s right. Sometimes I make…  _ questionable _ decisions when I drink too much.” He shifted again, and Osamu was certain that Suna had extended his own foot to reach toward Kondo. “It’s best if I cut myself off. Don’t want to do anything I regret in public.” There was the barest emphasis on  _ public _ , as if maybe he would make a different choice if they were somewhere more private.

Somewhere like Kondo’s mansion.

“That’s a shame,” said Kondo, though he was visibly pleased. “I would buy you drinks all night.”

“Couldja point me toward the bathroom?” asked Osamu. It seemed like a good time to excuse himself and give Suna some time alone with Kondo. “Don’t remember seein’ it.”

“Of course!” Kondo seemed eager to help; or eager to be left alone with Suna. “If you go back to the main area it’s to the left of the bar. You can’t miss it.”

Osamu mumbled a thank you and stood slowly, bracing for the dizzy spin that tilted the room. He pushed his chair under the table, buying himself time to adjust, and walked away as gracefully as he could manage. He turned back just before the table was out of sight. Suna had risen also, and he paced around the table to perch on the chair beside Kondo. He leaned close, close enough that Kondo could probably feel the heat of Suna’s words against his cheek.

Osamu clenched his jaw and found his way to the bathroom.

He relieved himself, spent too much time washing his hands, and splashed some cold water on his face. He’d hoped it would sober him up, but when fifteen minutes ticked by, he was just as drunk as before. He took a steadying breath and made his way back to Kondo’s private room, where Suna had returned to his own chair across the table as if nothing had happened. When Osamu approached, Suna tilted his head back and said, “Could you get my jacket from the coat check, love? We should head out, it’s getting late and we don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

“Please,” said Kondo, dripping smugness. His hair was a little out of place, as if a slim set of fingers had combed through it. “You could never.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it,” said Osamu. “I’ll wait for ya by the door.” He started to walk away, remembered himself, and turned back toward the table. “Thank you,” he said, offering Kondo a slight bow, “for the hospitality. It’s much appreciated.”

“Anytime. As I said before, the pleasure is all mine.” Kondo smiled up at Osamu long enough to be polite before his attention shifted back to Suna. 

That was fine. Osamu didn’t know how much longer he could keep his face pleasant anyway. He went to the coat check, passed over the receipt, and stood by the door with Suna’s jacket for about ten minutes until he finally arrived. Kondo wasn’t with him, which was fortunate. Osamu had used up his reserves of politeness for the day; perhaps for the entire week.

“Ready?” asked Osamu. He shook out the jacket and held it up by the shoulders. Suna blinked at him before turning to slide his arms into it.

“Sure, I’m ready.” Suna adjusted the front of his jacket, glanced over his shoulder, and offered a quick wave. Kondo must have been watching them.

Osamu held the door open for Suna, followed him onto the sidewalk, and didn’t flinch when Suna threaded their arms together. He stayed close, and Osamu was quietly grateful. He might have stumbled into the street without the extra support.

They were halfway to the car when Suna said, “You’re really drunk, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Osamu, “I’m so fucked up.”

Suna laughed, and kept hold of Osamu’s arm even when the bar was out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Osamu remembered getting in the car to go back to the hotel. He remembered fumbling with his seat belt until Suna reached over to do it for him, and he even remembered asking if Suna was sober enough to drive.

Anything after that was a boozy blur, and when Osamu woke with stomach cramps and a head full of hangover, he was mildly surprised to find himself in the hotel bed. He blinked against the brightness of the room, which wouldn’t have been very bright if not for his throbbing headache, and found himself looking at the closed curtains. He thought they’d been open before. Maybe he’d closed them, or perhaps Suna. Sunlight crept through the edges and sliced through the middle where two pieces of curtain met. Osamu rolled away from it, his pillow feather-soft, and found himself facing Suna instead.

He remembered insisting that he wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as Suna. Maybe he’d been so drunk last night that he’d forgotten.

Suna was on his back, eyes closed, the covers pulled up to his chest. The duvet was back on the bed instead of in the bathtub. Osamu didn’t remember that happening, either. Suna’s hair was a mess, and Osamu guessed he’d showered and gone to sleep with it wet. 

Despite his spotty memory of the night before, Osamu knew what had happened at the bar. He knew they’d played their parts well, and Kondo had been fooled. He knew Suna had been in high spirits afterward, which meant he must have gotten their invitation. He knew what Suna’s laugh sounded like, and knew some of his smiles were soft instead of saber-sharp.

Osamu turned back over. The sun was easier to face.

“Can you stop flopping around? I’m trying to sleep.”

Osamu rolled onto his back. Suna was looking at him, his eyes clear enough that Osamu thought he must have been awake for a while. 

“Don’t look sleepy to me,” mumbled Osamu, his voice blurry.

“Yeah, because you won’t stop flopping around.” Suna raised his arms over his head, knuckles brushing against the headboard and back arching as he stretched. “Do you feel as shitty as you look?”

Osamu huffed and turned his face into the pillow. “Fuck you.”

“Sounds like a yes.” The bed shifted. “We’ll stop on the way to breakfast and get you something for that headache.”

“Didn’t say I have a headache.”

“You didn’t have to.” Suna sat up and pushed a hand through his unruly hair. He’d slept in a bathrobe, the V dipping halfway down his chest. “Could’ve been worse. I thought I might wake up in a puddle of your vomit.”

“I wasn’t  _ that _ drunk,” grumbled Osamu, although he’d been close.

“I’d hate to see what you consider  _ that _ drunk, then.” Suna rose and stretched again, groaning as he slumped back into his normal posture. He considered Osamu, face neutral, and said, “If you hadn’t helped me out last night I would’ve been fucked.  _ Drunk _ is too mild of a word.  _ Obliterated _ is more like it. The job would’ve been over. So… thanks.” With that he went into the bathroom and shut the door. The sound of running water followed, slightly muffled.

Osamu stared after him, wondering if his alcohol-soaked brain had hallucinated that last part. He flopped back onto the bed, yanked up the covers, and wondered if maybe Suna wasn’t the worst person he’d ever met after all.

An hour later Osamu’s stomach was full, his headache had eased, and the sunlight slanting through the café windows was bearable thanks to the sunglasses Suna had handed him before they’d left the hotel.

“You shouldn’t skip breakfast,” said Osamu, as he stacked his empty plates and pushed them to the edge of the table. “Not good for ya.”

Suna took a pointed sip of his coffee. “I’m not skipping it.”

“Coffee don’t count.”

“Sure it does. Not everyone is a human landfill like you.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. It made his head throb. He adjusted the sunglasses on his nose – the waitress hadn’t spared him a second glance, which meant she probably dealt with hungover idiots on a daily basis – and said, “Why didn’t we just get room service again? Seems easier.”

Suna waved a hand at the interior of the café. It was a nice place, if a little more pricey than Osamu would have preferred. The food was good, but so was room service at the hotel, and he could’ve stayed in bed. “Kondo recommended it,” said Suna.

Osamu’s expression soured. “So? Doesn’t mean we had to come.”

“Yeah, it does. He’s getting us reservations at his fancy friend’s restaurant for tonight, too.” Suna finished his coffee and nudged the mug beside Osamu’s discarded plates. “He’s the suspicious type, and for good reason. He didn’t get rich the legal way and he knows people are coming after him. If we want him to trust us, we have to sell our story. Make him think we’re really who we say we are. He’ll check before he lets us into that party. I’m guessing he’s already sent somebody to the hotel to verify our story. That’s why we went to the realtor yesterday, too. Kondo might even have someone here watching for us, to see if we really came by like I told him we would.”

Osamu frowned. “So did you get the invitation or not?”

“I told you last night, Osamu.” Suna grinned. “Having memory problems?”

“You can’t be a dick to me about getting drunk,” said Osamu. “I did that for you.”

“I know, I know.” Suna leaned back in his chair, grin unwavering. “How much do you remember, then?”

Osamu didn’t trust the curve of Suna’s smile. “Mostly everything up until we left. Gettin’ in the car. That’s about it.”

Suna hummed. “So you don’t remember when we got to the hotel and I had to help you into the elevator?” He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “Or the ride up when you said  _ ya look real pretty tonight, Rin _ .” 

Osamu’s face felt warm.

“And you don’t remember what happened after that,” continued Suna, “when we got into bed together and you got a little bit handsy?”

“Shut up,” said Osamu, horrified. “That didn’t- I didn’t do that. You’re lyin’. You’re-”

Suna laughed, as brightly as the sun striped across their table. “Don’t have a stroke, I’m kidding. You could barely even talk by the time we got back. As soon as you hit the bed you were unconscious. I had to help take your pants off. You’re welcome.”

Osamu was so relieved that he hadn’t propositioned Suna that he wasn’t even embarrassed about the pants incident. He’d done worse. “You’re a dick, Sunarin.”

“Yeah,” agreed Suna, still smiling. “Anyway, I kind of got an invitation, but not exactly. Kondo brought it up when we were alone, and I said I was interested but I’d have to run it by you first. You know, since we’re married and all.” He flashed his ring; Osamu was still wearing his, too. “Kondo said he’d be in touch. I gave him my number. Wanna make a bet on how long it’ll take him to text me?”

“Maybe. What’s the winner get?”

Suna considered. “If you win, I’ll buy you mochi ice cream later from that place beside the hotel. If I win, you have to tell Kita-san I’m the best partner you’ve ever worked with.”

Osamu’s nose wrinkled. “Fuck you, that’s not a fair bet!”

Suna shrugged. “What do you want, then?”

Osamu flexed his left hand as he thought about that. The ring didn’t feel strange anymore. He’d gotten used to it. “Same thing,” he decided. “You’ll tell Kita-san I was a good partner and I’m good at my job.”

He expected resistance, but Suna simply said, “Deal. What time do you think I’ll hear from Kondo?”

The two of them had been at the bar really late, and Kondo had still been there when they’d left. Osamu doubted he was a morning person. And if Kondo was taking the time to check up on their backstory, he would wait for confirmation before he went too hard after Suna. But it would definitely be today, it would have to be, because the party was tomorrow.

“Five or six this evenin’,” concluded Osamu. “You?”

Suna hummed. “Sometime before noon, I think.”

Osamu checked the time again. Eleven-thirty. Suna was setting himself up to lose. 

“Fine,” said Osamu, extending a fist across the table. “It’s a bet.”

Suna raised an eyebrow at him, hesitated, and slowly offered his own fist to bump against Osamu’s. 

“Can’t wait to hear you tell Kita-san how great I am,” said Osamu, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

“Can’t wait to see your face when I show you this,” said Suna. He slid his phone across the table, spun it to face Osamu, and tapped the screen.

There was a single message, sent five minutes ago from an unsaved number.

_ Good morning, Rin! Hope you had a nice night. I woke up thinking of you. ;) Tell me all about the café when you go. I know the owner. If anything is wrong I’ll have him fix it immediately. Have a great day, gorgeous. _

Osamu read through the message, blinked, and read it again. He raised his head to meet Suna’s sneer. 

“I’ll write a script for you,” said Suna, reclaiming his phone. “Something like… Oh Kita-san, Suna is the best agent I’ve ever seen! I’m not worthy to be the dirt on his shoes. He carried the weight of the whole job. I don’t even deserve to get paid, please give him my paycheck too, he earned it.”

“You’re a fuckin’ cheater!” said Osamu. He lunged across the table and snatched at Suna’s phone, but Suna leaned out of the way. “You already had the text before you made the bet. It doesn’t fuckin’ count.”

“Not my fault you doubted my devilish charm,” said Suna. “Your answer should have been  _ Kondo will contact you immediately ‘cause who could resist ya, Rin _ .”

“Fuck you! You cheated. The bet is off and I  _ don’t _ talk like that.”

“Is everything okay over here?” asked the waitress, eyeing the pair of them with caution as she collected their dishes. 

“Everything is great,” said Suna with an easy smile. “Thank you. Please excuse my husband, he had a rough night.”

The waitress dipped her head, gave Osamu one last uneasy look, and went back to the kitchen.

“I knew I could count on that Miya temper.” Suna was pleased as he tapped at his phone. “If Kondo has someone watching for us, word will get back to him that we were arguing. He’ll think it’s because I have a thing for him. The part where you yelled that I’m a cheater was perfect.”

Osamu folded his arms with a huff. He decided that he’d been wrong earlier that morning. Suna was definitely the worst person he’d ever met.

“Anyway,” said Suna, still typing on his screen, “we’ll do some sightseeing today. That seems like something a couple would do, when they’re deciding to move to a new city. I can send Kondo pictures. Want to go anywhere in particular?”

“Back to bed.”

“There are some great temples,” said Suna, ignoring him. “The shopping district is the best in the prefecture. You don’t seem like you’d be into museums much. Oh, we should go to Midland Square, over by the Station. I haven’t been in a few years. We can have a late lunch there, they’ve got all kinds of restaurants and shops and stuff.”

Osamu sighed. “Whatever. Can we at least catch a nap before dinner?”

“Maybe,” said Suna. He put his phone on the table and the screen lit up immediately. He smirked as he checked the message. “Wow, someone’s desperate. You jealous, husband?”

“Jealous,” repeated Osamu, watching the curve of Suna’s grin as he typed back a response. “Right.”

Osamu didn’t get his nap; at least, not in the way he wanted. He rested his head against the car window and slept for about twenty minutes as Suna drove them from one side of the city to the other, arriving at the restaurant just in time for their dinner reservations. Suna shook him awake before hopping out to toss the keys to a valet, and Osamu clumsily pushed the car door open to follow.

It hadn’t been a bad day, aside from the weariness still left from the hangover. This was a nice city and Osamu had been particularly impressed by Nagoya Castle. 

He would’ve been more impressed if they’d made time for a nap sometime during the day’s activities.

“You’re sloppy,” said Suna, as they approached the door. “They won’t let us in if you look like you just crawled out of a dumpster.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t dragged me all over the fuckin’ city I’d look better.”

Suna rolled his eyes. “Blaming me for your problems, what a surprise.” He grabbed Osamu’s arm and wheeled him around. “But I’m serious, you look like trash. Stop for a minute.” 

Osamu sighed, but kept his complaints to himself as Suna straightened the front of his jacket. Long fingers plucked at the collar, folding it more neatly, before moving to Osamu’s hair. Suna smoothed it down carefully, his face as neutral as usual, and something about the feeling of his fingers combing through Osamu’s hair was soothing.

“Good move, letting your hair go back natural,” said Suna, as he tucked a few long pieces behind Osamu’s ear. “You looked ridiculous when I started at the agency.”

“Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Suna grinned. He was so close that Osamu noticed his teeth were slightly crooked on the bottom. “You still look ridiculous. Just less.” He gave Osamu’s hair one final sweep of his hand and took a step back to study his work. “That’s better. You can almost pass for a functional human being. Let’s go.”

Osamu wanted to throw an insult back at him, something about Suna’s appearance being just as bad as Osamu’s, but he couldn’t do it. Suna was immaculate in his suit, and his hair was so perfect that Osamu thought he’d imagined that morning’s bedhead. There was nothing to insult.

When Suna provided their fake name to the host, they were seated immediately. Osamu didn’t know if the restaurant was always so prompt or if it was Kondo’s influence. Suna had been texting him all day, frequently enough that it was getting annoying.

“He invited us to the bar after dinner,” said Suna, checking his phone as soon as they reached their table. “I’ll tell him yes, but change my mind later and say you’re being a dick about it. That’s believable.”

“Tell him whatever you want,” said Osamu, flipping open an excessively fancy menu, “as long as we don’t hafta go.”

Suna hummed and typed back a response. “It’s almost like you dislike Kondo. I can’t imagine why.”

Osamu snorted. “I dunno. Maybe ‘cause he’s a rich fuckin’ asshole?”

“Oh, I thought it was because he’s trying to steal away your husband.”

“Nah, that’s fine. He can have you.”

Suna glanced up at him with a little smirk. “That’s a rude thing to say to the love of your life, Osamu. You should be nicer to me, after all we’ve been through. I was disowned by my family because of you.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” asked Osamu, grinning despite himself. “Did they think I was a bad influence?”

“Absolutely.” Suna finished his text and put his phone on the table. “I had so much potential. The entire world was at my fingertips. I could’ve had anything I wanted, and yet I chose a no-good Hyogo boy with a bad attitude and no family money.” Suna propped his chin in his hand and smiled. “At least you’re not ugly. I could’ve done worse.”

“That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t marry me because I’m nice.”

“Why’d I marry you then?” asked Osamu, the swell of a laugh caught in his chest.

“Who knows.” Suna shrugged. “For my money, probably. Which was a bad move for you because my parents gave it all to my sister instead.”

“Maybe I’ll divorce you and marry her instead.”

“Good luck,” said Suna, smiling as he picked up his menu. “She’s just as gay as I am.”

Osamu lifted a brow, waiting for Suna to laugh or add something else to the joke. But he simply continued scanning the menu, and Osamu thought that last part might have been true.

“Do you want wine?” asked Suna. “I don’t drink enough to know what’s good or not, but I’m guessing it’s amazing based on how fucking expensive it is.”

“I’ll pass,” said Osamu. He dragged his stare away from Suna to flip a page of his own menu. “I need a day to dry out before the party tomorrow.”

“Good call. I might need to borrow your alcohol tolerance there, too.”

“Maybe you should get your own.”

Suna laughed under his breath, eyes flashing at Osamu before sliding to the waitress who approached their table.

Suna’s eyes were the color of soft candlelight.

Osamu cringed at the thought and pretended it had never crossed his mind as he gave his order to the waitress.

As expected, the food was excellent. Osamu had no complaints, which was rare. He would eat almost anything but he was always critical. This food was prepared flawlessly, the spices were perfect, and if the prices weren’t so damn expensive, he would’ve ordered another meal.

“We’re gettin’ dessert,” said Osamu when he’d scraped his plate clean. “Think they’ve got a special dessert menu?”

“Wasn’t it on the regular one?”

“Nah. I checked.”

“Of course you did.” Suna’s phone was in his hand again. He’d eaten most of his food but there were still a few bites left. Osamu wanted to finish it for him but thought it might be weird to ask. “Kondo is getting feisty. He wants me to go into the bathroom and take nudes.”

Osamu scrunched his nose. “Gross.”

“Kondo is gross or me taking nudes is gross?”

“You sending nudes to Kondo is gross.”

“You’re not wrong, but it’s the price of a job well done.” Suna plucked the napkin out of his lap, placed it on the table, and pushed his chair back. “We all make sacrifices. You got embarrassingly drunk and I have to go send a creepy rich guy a picture of my dick. All in a day’s work.”

“Tell him no,” said Osamu, as Suna stood. “Say somethin’ like he’ll see it in person later and you don’t wanna ruin the fun.”

Suna smiled, less sharply than expected. “As hard as I’ve been flirting, it would be too suspicious not to go along with it. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten naked for money, and no, I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Order me something for dessert. And yes, you can finish my food.” He nudged his plate closer to Osamu before drifting off toward the back of the restaurant, supposedly toward the bathroom. Osamu watched him go with a strange feeling in his stomach that he didn’t quite understand. Instead of trying to work it out, he dragged Suna’s plate closer and finished off the rest of the meal.

Osamu’s phone rang as he stacked up the empty plates. It was set to silent, but the buzz was insistent against his chest, where the phone was tucked into an inside pocket of his jacket. He took it out, confirmed Suna wasn’t on his way back, and answered the call. 

“What’s up, scrub?”

“’Samu. Somethin’ terrible happened.” Atsumu’s tone was flat, serious. 

If Osamu didn’t know him so well, he would have been worried; but he did know Atsumu, and he knew that his brother was being dramatic.

“Well I’m busy,” said Osamu, “so unless you’re dead-”

“It’s worse than that,” said Atsumu, his voice hissing. “God, it’s so much worse.”

“Worse than death? I doubt it.”

“’Samu. I need to tell you somethin’ and you can’t laugh.”

Osamu was almost positive he would laugh. Anytime Atsumu started a conversation with that, it was basically a guarantee. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

A few seconds trickled by in silence. Atsumu must have been bracing himself to deliver the news. Just when Osamu was about to pressure him, Atsumu said, “I accidentally fucked Sakusa.”

Osamu didn’t laugh. He was too surprised to laugh. “You did  _ what _ ?”

“By accident!” said Atsumu, as if it was a criminal defense. “I didn’t mean to, but it happened and now I don’t know what to do.”

“How do you fuck someone by accident?” said Osamu. “Didja trip and  _ accidentally _ land on his dick?”

“First off, fuck you, I topped,” said Atsumu. “And no, it was like… he just pisses me off  _ so much _ , you know? I was so mad and he was looking at me with his stupid fucking face and it just… happened.”

Osamu was no genius, but at least he was smarter than his brother. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not the point. ‘Samu, what am I supposed to  _ do _ ? The job’s not over.”

“Depends,” said Osamu. “Was it good?”

Suna returned to the table. He put his phone face down and sank into his chair, raising a brow at Osamu in a silent question.

“Well,” said Atsumu. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Then fuck him again,” said Osamu. “Might as well enjoy yourself.”

Suna’s other eyebrow rose to join the first.

“That’s not funny!” said Atsumu, his voice pitching a little higher. “If Kita-san makes us work together again it’ll be awkward. I don’t know how to… Shit. He’s knocking on the door. What do I say?”

“Are you hidin’ in the bathroom?”

“No!”

That was a lie.

“You’ve got a job to finish, you hafta talk to him,” said Osamu, ignoring Suna’s stare. “Either tell him it was a mistake and you didn’t mean anything by it, or tell him you liked it. That’s your only options.”

“Fuck,” mumbled Atsumu. “I hate this. I hate  _ him _ . Why’s he gotta be so hot?”

Osamu’s eyes slipped to Suna. “I dunno. The gods hate us.”

“Fine. But if I end up killin’ him, you’re comin’ over to help me cover it up.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Osamu. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d helped his brother hide a body. Atsumu had helped him with the same thing a few times. “Check in with me tomorrow. About your job, not about your sex life. I don’t wanna hear about that.”

“Whatever. Hope you’re havin’ an awful time.”

“Same to you. I hope when you fuck him again it sucks.”

Atsumu grumbled, and in the background there was a loud but muffled “Miya!”

Osamu ended the call and tucked his phone away again.

“Something I need to know about?” asked Suna.

“No. Family business.”

Suna hummed. His phone chimed and he didn’t glance at it. “I’m impressed Atsumu won him over. Sakusa doesn’t get along with mostly anyone. I did a job with him once and it was a nightmare.”

“Guess you didn’t accidentally fuck him, then?” asked Osamu, the words tasting of sarcasm.

“Nope. Did it on purpose.”

“You…  _ what _ ?”

Suna laughed, loudly enough to drown out the next ping of his phone. “I’m kidding. You’re gullible, you know that? Of course I didn’t fuck him. With his personality it would be like fucking a cactus and I’m not that much of a masochist.”

Osamu was a little relieved. For his brother’s sake, of course; it would be weird if Sakusa had a habit of sleeping with his partners and Atsumu was just another name on the list.

Suna’s phone chimed again. He rolled his eyes without reaching for it. “That’s six texts since I sent him the pictures. Think he liked them?”

“Yeah, probably.” Osamu couldn’t imagine anyone  _ not _ liking nude photos of Suna. Not that he’d seen him naked, but he was so handsome fully clothed that he must be the same dressed down. “What’d he say?”

With seeming reluctance, Suna picked up his phone. His face remained neutral as he skimmed through the messages, and when he finished, he tapped back a reply. “He said what he’s going to do to me when he gets me alone during the party tomorrow. Do you want more details or is that enough for you?”

Osamu cringed at the thought. “No, that’s enough. I don’t wanna know.”

Suna finished the message and glanced up at Osamu, eyes sharp, mouth curving. “Do you want to look at my nudes and see if they were good enough for the job? I accept constructive criticism.”

“Uh. No.” Osamu felt his face warming. “That’s fine. I trust ya.”

Suna’s grin was wicked. “Do you?”

The waitress returned to break the tension and Osamu was quietly grateful. He didn’t know how to answer that question. His only choice was to trust Suna with this job, and with anything else related to their work with the agency, but he didn’t think that was what Suna meant.

He was uneasy as the waitress drifted off, but Suna didn’t return to their conversation. Instead he pushed his phone halfway across the table and said, “Will you sext Kondo for a while? I’m sick of him.”

Osamu snorted and shoved the phone back at him. “No way. You’re the one who wanted to seduce him. He’s your problem now.”

“It’s hard work being this pretty,” said Suna, heaving a long-suffering sigh as his phone chimed again.

Osamu couldn’t fight back a smile.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet. Osamu leaned back against the headrest but didn’t go to sleep. He wasn’t as tired as he’d been when they’d arrived for dinner. The city blurred by in his periphery, bright stripes that lingered even when he tried to blink them away.

“Are you from here?” asked Osamu, without deciding to speak. “Nagoya?”

“No,” said Suna. His eyes didn’t leave the road. “I’m from Tōkai. It’s a smaller city. I never even saw Nagoya until I was a teenager. I spent a lot of time here after that, especially when I started working. This is where all the good jobs are.”

“So you worked for an agency here,” guessed Osamu. He didn’t know why he was asking. It wasn’t his business, and he didn’t expect Suna to tell him.

“Yeah. I was one of their best agents and they still treated me like trash.” Suna threaded fingers through his hair before dropping his hand back onto the steering wheel. “That’s why I came to Inarizaki instead. I heard Kita-san runs his agency better, and he does. I can’t believe I wasted so many years getting stepped on.”

Osamu rolled his head to the side to study Suna. “How long did you work for them before you came to us?”

“About eight years.”

Suna’s face was dipped in shadows. Osamu didn’t know his age, not exactly, but he did know Suna had been too young to become an agent. 

“What about you?” asked Suna. He flicked a glance at Osamu before returning his attention to the street. “Did you and your brother start with Inarizaki?”

“Yeah, we did. Kita-san wasn’t in charge then, but he’s the one who gave us a chance.”

“Bet he regrets that now.” Suna said it with a hint of a smile. “Seems like Miyas only cause trouble.”

“’Tsumu’s the one who gets into trouble. He just always drags me down with him.”

“I think it works both ways.”

Osamu shook his head, but didn’t argue. There wasn’t a point, because Suna wasn’t wrong. As much as Osamu liked to blame his brother for everything, he knew many of their questionable situations had been his own fault. 

He wondered what Atsumu was doing right now. Osamu hadn’t heard back from him after the phone call. Atsumu must have made nice with his new partner, because if he’d murdered him instead, he would’ve called.

They arrived back at the hotel without incident and Osamu was relieved that he remembered the walk up to their room. He hoped he wouldn’t have to get as drunk at the party tomorrow as he’d done last night. He didn’t think his liver could handle it.

“Where are you sleeping?” asked Suna, as he stripped off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door. 

Osamu looked at the bed, neatly remade by hotel staff. On their first night, he’d said he wasn’t sleeping in the same bed as Suna, and he’d meant it.

But he’d done it last night, even if he couldn’t remember making the choice, so there was no point suffering for his pride anymore.

“Same place I slept yesterday,” said Osamu. He started toward the bathroom, hesitated. “If that’s fine with you.”

He didn’t turn, but he knew Suna was grinning. “I suppose I can share a bed with my darling husband.”

Osamu rolled his eyes and shut the bathroom door behind him. When he looked at himself in the mirror, his cheeks were a little flushed. He scowled at himself and yanked open his shirt. His phone buzzed and the incoming message was from Atsumu.

_ This time it wasn’t an accident. I think there’s something wrong with me _ .

Osamu sent back  _ I’ve known that for years dumbass _ before putting his phone aside and stripping down for a shower. He wanted to criticize his brother for sleeping with his new partner, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Osamu thought, if given the chance, he might sleep with his new partner, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Osamu had been to hundreds of fancy parties over the years. At this point he should have acquired a taste for them, but he found that he hated each one a little more than the last. Everyone was always arrogant, disgustingly rich, and wearing so much perfume or cologne that it made him want to vomit.

Or maybe that was just the alcohol, because his body still hadn’t forgiven him for Wednesday night.

“Do something about your face,” said Suna, smiling at the curious trio of women watching them from a nearby settee. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“Maybe I am in pain.” Osamu forced himself to take another drink of whiskey. “My husband is here to hook up with some rich asshole. I’m in emotional pain.”

Suna laughed and gripped the crook of Osamu’s elbow to guide him across the room. “In that case you’re doing a great job, please continue.” He raised his own glass to his lips, but only pretended to drink. Osamu’s stomach churned with the knowledge that he would have to drink double again.

It was fine. He wouldn’t have to drink as much as he had at the bar, when they’d been alone with Kondo. There were plenty of people here vying for his attention. As long as Osamu and Suna kept a drink in their hands, they wouldn’t stand out.

“I still don’t see him,” said Osamu, as they drifted to a quieter part of the room. Well, quieter in some ways. They were by the glossy grand piano that was in active use, notes rising and falling and weaving together in a musical tapestry. It was loud, but there were less people, and Osamu much preferred it. 

“He’s around here somewhere,” said Suna. He took his hand back from Osamu’s arm but stayed close to him, their shoulders brushing. “Mingling, showing off, whatever. He’ll find us.”

Osamu hummed in agreement. Kondo would certainly find them, based on the increasingly explicit texts he’d sent to Suna throughout the day. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Kondo had jumped him the second they’d walked through the door. But it had been his wife that had greeted them, and despite having no idea who they were, she’d made a good show of pretending. They were on the list, thanks to Suna, and they’d been allowed inside without a problem.

But Osamu hadn’t failed to notice the private security walking the perimeter, wearing coats bulky enough to conceal weapons. Osamu wouldn’t have been worried on a normal job, when he and Atsumu were prepared to shoot their way out. 

But Kita had said  _ no conflict, no casualties _ , which meant they couldn’t make any mistakes.

“Which do you think costs more?” asked Suna. “The chandelier or the Lamborghini out front?”

Osamu tilted his head back. The chandelier hung in the middle of the great room, four layers of gold dripping with diamonds. The mansion itself was the bourgeoisie’s wet dream, studded with golden doorknobs and decorative pillars and sweeping staircases.

It was such an overblown show of money that it made Osamu sick.

“Lamborghini,” he said, taking another drink of whiskey. It was beginning to taste better. “Chandelier is fake.”

Suna considered that while Osamu studied the sharp line of Suna’s jaw. “Maybe so,” agreed Suna. This time he took a real drink out of his glass. He leaned into Osamu and murmured, “Kondo is here. Look convincing.”

Osamu wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he snaked an arm around Suna’s waist to tug him closer and slipped his hand beneath Suna’s tailored jacket to rest at the dip of his waist. Suna wasn’t wearing a gun under his coat, which was concerning to Osamu. Suna had said earlier while getting ready for this party that he didn’t carry weapons. He preferred stealth to conflict, and on the rare occasion that he was tasked with assassination, poison was his weapon of choice. 

Osamu didn’t understand that. He’d never turned down a good fight in his life.

Suna said, quietly, “Want to make a bet on how long it’ll take him to invite me upstairs?”

Osamu smiled as he turned his head to answer, nose nudging against Suna’s ear. “I’m never makin’ a bet with you again. You’re a cheater.”

Suna laughed, low and sweet, just as Kondo approached.

“I’m so pleased you could make it,” said Kondo, his sweeping gesture including both of them while his gaze was only for Suna. “Welcome to my humble home. I see you found the bar. The hors d’oeuvres will be passed around soon, hopefully they will be to your taste. My chef friend is working out of my kitchen actually, the one who runs the restaurant you visited last night. I told him you had a great experience. He was quite flattered.”

“We’re just honored you went through the trouble of getting us reservations,” said Suna with utmost politeness and a secret smile. “Aren’t we, Osamu?”

“Yeah, honored,” said Osamu. He didn’t sound very friendly, but considering his current role, he thought that was okay. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Kondo waved off the gratitude. “Please, it’s the least I could do for my new friends. If you’ll excuse me, I have more guests to greet. I’ll find you again soon. I did promise you a tour of the house and I don’t break my promises.” He said this part only to Suna, and gleam in his eyes wasn’t subtle.

“I look forward to it,” said Suna, smiling at Kondo with half-hooded eyes. He’d drawn on black eyeliner before they’d left the hotel and it was even sharper than before. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kondo looked like  _ soon _ was too long for him, but he took a measured step back. “Enjoy yourselves. Have all the drinks you’d like, try all the food, take a spin around the dance floor. I imagine the two of you are excellent dancers.” With that he turned to rejoin the crowd, sliding one last glance back at Suna before blending into the other guests.

“If he wanted you any more, he’d be tryin’ to fuck you against the wall right in front of everybody,” said Osamu, his lip curling. “It’s gross.”

“Kondo is gross, or wanting to fuck me against the wall is gross?” Suna tipped one eyebrow up to punctuate the question. His voice was light, but something in his stare was heavy.

Osamu held that candlelight stare, very aware that his hand was still curled at Suna’s waist. He said, “Kondo is gross.”

Suna smiled, and the curve of it was as sharp as his eyeliner. 

Osamu slowly took his arm back and looked away. He thought if he didn’t get a breath of distance between them he might say something stupid.

Maybe Suna decided to have mercy and break the tension, or maybe he hadn’t noticed it at all. He said, “Are you a good dancer?”

Osamu shrugged. “Are you?”

“My mom put me in ballroom lessons when I was younger,” said Suna. He took another small sip of his drink. “She said it was an important skill for someone of my social standing. Turns out she was right, but not in the way she thought.”

Osamu considered the pretend story they’d created at the restaurant, about Suna getting disowned from his family for marrying Osamu. None of it had been true; Osamu hadn’t thought so, anyway. Maybe part of it had been. “Kita-san made me and ‘Tsumu learn when we started at the agency. It was fuckin’ embarrassing.”

“I can’t imagine Kita-san dancing,” said Suna.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Who’s a better dancer?” asked Suna. “You or your brother?”

“Me,” said Osamu immediately. “’Tsumu sucks.”

Suna laughed. “I thought you’d say that.” He finished his drink in one long gulp, made a face, and put the empty glass on a nearby table that had probably cost more than Suna’s tailored suit. “Let’s go, then,” he said, offering a hand. “It’ll be good for Kondo to see us close like that. He’ll get more eager.”

“If he gets any more eager he’ll pop a hard-on,” said Osamu, but he didn’t argue. He finished his drink too, stacked his cup into Suna’s, and took his hand. Suna’s fingers were warm as they slipped between his. Suna tilted his head toward the handful of other couples who had fallen into step with the glimmering piano music and Osamu led them toward the edge of the dance floor. It had clearly been designed for that specific purpose. The tiles were a different pattern in this large square, marking the edges clearly but discreetly. It was in the dead center of the great room, surrounded by expensive furniture and fraternizing guests and a trio of waiters carrying trays of bite-sized food. A pair of women danced near the middle of the floor, but the other couples were traditional. Suna didn’t seem to care, so Osamu didn’t, either. 

They weren’t there to make an impression on anyone else. They were only there for Kondo.

Suna slid a hand up Osamu’s chest to perch on his shoulder, clasping his other hand into Osamu’s. Osamu touched Suna’s waist, lightly, before settling into a firmer hold. 

“I hope Kita-san taught you well,” said Suna, wearing the same smirk that had infuriated Osamu when they’d first met. “People are staring. I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

Instead of snapping at him the way Osamu would have done three days ago, he grinned back. “You’re the one I’m worried about. If Kondo thinks you’re a shitty dancer he might not wanna fuck you anymore.”

Suna’s laugh was so low that it was almost lost in the strain of the music, but Osamu heard it.

It had been a while since Osamu had danced – probably at the beginning of the year when he and Atsumu were in Kyoto and Osamu had lost a coin toss for who had to distract the rich widow – but he and Suna fell into step easily.

It was fortunate that Kita had forced him to learn dancing so well. If Osamu had needed to think about what he was doing, he would have tripped over himself. There was no room in his head for rational thought when he could only focus on the way Suna’s eyes glinted in the chandelier light, and the slip of Suna’s fingers between his own, and the way Suna smelled like fresh laundry instead of the gaudy perfume clouding the air around them.

Osamu understood why this plan had worked so well. There was no way Kondo could have resisted Suna. Osamu doubted anyone could.

“Just so you know,” said Suna, matching Osamu’s steps perfectly, “if I wasn’t trying to make a certain kind of impression, I’d be the one leading.”

Osamu stepped back, twirled Suna in a neat circle, and pulled him in again. “If you weren’t tryin’ to make a certain kind of impression,” said Osamu, “maybe I’d let ya.”

Suna’s smirk curved higher. His hand moved from Osamu’s shoulder to the back of his neck, bringing them closer. “Next time,” he said, “you can be the vulnerable twink and I’ll be the jealous husband.”

“I don’t think I’d do as good as you,” said Osamu. His body moved on autopilot, but his attention was entirely on Suna.

“Why’s that?”

“You’re prettier than me,” said Osamu.

Suna’s stare slipped away, across the dance floor, and lingered there before returning to Osamu. Maybe Suna’s face was a little flushed, or maybe it was Osamu’s imagination. “You really know how to give a compliment. I almost feel bad that I’m cheating on you with Kondo.”

Osamu huffed a laugh and dipped his hand further beneath Suna’s jacket to rest at the small of his back. “Guess I’m not the worst husband, huh?”

“Guess not.” Suna’s fingers tickled at the nape of Osamu’s neck. “I’ve had worse.” 

Osamu was hardly aware of their surroundings, but he’d been trained well enough to know when someone was glaring a hole straight through him, no matter how distracted he was. He glanced up just long enough to pick Kondo out of the crowd, watching the pair of them with a fierce intensity. 

“I think it’s workin’,” said Osamu, turning them to the side so Suna could catch a glimpse of his suitor. “He looks kinda agitated.”

“Good,” said Suna. “Maybe this will speed things up. I’d like to make it home before midnight.”

“Alright,” said Osamu. He slowed to a stop, still keeping Suna close, still looking directly into his eyes. “Let me help ya out, then.” He curled a knuckle beneath Suna’s chin, gently. Suna’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t move away as Osamu leaned in.

The kiss was unnecessary, all things considered. They could have done the job just fine without it. 

But it was a good excuse to taste Suna’s mouth, to feel the texture of his lips. It was a good excuse for Osamu to trace his thumb along Suna’s jaw, to inhale Suna’s exhales, to wonder if Suna would let this happen if they weren’t playing roles for a job.

Suna smirked against Osamu’s mouth as they broke away. 

“I’ll get us another drink,” said Osamu, as he stepped off the dance floor. He turned away before Suna could answer, before Suna had time to notice the heat that burned Osamu’s face.

Osamu thought of Atsumu’s phone call from the night before, about how he’d  _ accidentally _ fucked Sakusa.

Osamu could do all kinds of things with Suna, and none of them would be an accident.

A private bar had been built with the mansion. It was manned by a pair of bartenders dressed in identical button-up shirts and bowties. Osamu ordered two whiskeys and watched the crowd as he waited. 

He found Suna easily, and was unsurprised to find that Kondo had swooped in. They were on the outskirts, Kondo guiding Suna away from the other guests with a hand at his lower back. Kondo murmured into his ear, and Suna’s smile was perfectly believable.

It was just as believable as the smile he’d given Osamu. Suna was an impressive actor.

As planned, Kondo led him through a door beneath a curving staircase, out of sight. Osamu knew where they would go, had studied the blueprints until he’d memorized every room. He checked his watch, mentally marked the time, and settled in to wait. He and Suna had agreed on ten minutes. If Suna wasn’t back in the great room to rejoin Osamu in ten minutes, something had gone wrong and Osamu would go find him. He didn’t think that would be necessary; Suna was nothing if not efficient.

Osamu accepted the drinks from the bartender, wandered back into the crowd as if looking for his husband, and settled on a vacant settee when he felt he’d searched long enough to be convincing. He put the drinks on the low table and resisted the urge to kick up his feet. He’d positioned himself so he could see the door through which Suna had disappeared. When he returned, they would slip out a side door and sneak back to their car to avoid the suspicion of leaving the party too early.

It would be quick, easy. Suna had planned this out perfectly. Despite Osamu’s initial doubts, he understood why Suna was such a successful agent.

“What’s a handsome man like you doing all by himself?” said a dandelion voice as someone settled down beside Osamu. “Your boyfriend should be more careful. You could get snatched right up.”

It was Kondo Juri, bejeweled and lovely and sitting far too close to Osamu than was socially practical. 

“Husband,” corrected Osamu, as politely as possible; which, for a Miya, wasn’t all that polite.

“Even more reason for him to keep an eye on you,” said Juri with a smile of perfect, pearly white teeth. “I’ll be happy to keep you company. Can’t have any of my guests getting lonesome.”

Osamu understood why the Kondos worked as a couple. He’d assumed Juri was blind to her husband’s illicit affairs, but that wasn’t it. She was a predator too, they both were. 

“I’m flattered, but I would hate to take you away from your other guests,” said Osamu. He leaned forward to pick up the whiskeys he’d put aside and offered one to Juri. She took it with a smile and a flutter of impressively long eyelashes.

“It’s not a problem,” she said. Her first sip left a neat press of lipstick at the edge of the glass. “Mostly everyone here has already been to one of our parties. Since it’s your first, we need to make it memorable.”

Osamu knew he couldn’t talk his way out of her company, so he didn’t try. He drank his whiskey slowly, answered Juri’s questions with an inconspicuous dose of deceit, and kept an eye on the door beneath the staircase.

He didn’t need to check his watch to know when ten minutes had passed. His mental clock had always been accurate down to the second. 

Suna still hadn’t come back.

“Could you tell me where the nearest bathroom is?” asked Osamu, because he already knew. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“The one in the foyer is more impressive,” said Juri, gesturing toward the front of the mansion, “but the nearest is through that door, first room on the left.” She sliced a loaded glance at Osamu and said, “I can show you, if you’d like. I wouldn’t mind giving a tour of the house.”

Osamu made himself smile. He knew it was convincing because he’d spent years practicing, but it felt wrong on his face. “Thanks, I’ll find it just fine. But if I don’t find my husband soon I might take you up on that tour.”

It was the right thing to say. Juri patted Osamu’s thigh, too close to his groin to be quite comfortable, and said, “Anything I can do to make you enjoy yourself. Anything at all.”

Osamu gave her a pandering grin as he rose and made his way toward the doorway beneath the staircase. It wasn’t as well lit as the great room, likely because the Kondos hadn’t expected guests to stray into that part of the mansion. Osamu saw the bathroom immediately, and passed it by to move deeper into the house. 

There was security inside too, although they were more subtle than the guards walking the grounds. Likely they’d been tasked with keeping guests from wandering into the more private areas of the Kondos’ residence, in case someone had sticky fingers and a taste for gold. Osamu came across one member of the hired security team as he paced the dark hallways, but he avoided them easily. His preferred method would have been to choke them out and lock them in a closet, to make sure they wouldn’t be a problem later on, but he simply slipped by unnoticed and found his way to the less impressive staircase at the back of the mansion.

The master bedroom was on the upper floor. Osamu checked it first, found it empty, and continued down the hall to Kondo’s study. It was there that he found Suna, sitting at a desk and typing rapidly on Kondo’s laptop.

Kondo himself was out of commission, crumpled onto an intricately woven rug that was developing a suspicious red stain.

Osamu balked in the doorway, looking from the body to Suna and back again.

“We’re not s’posed to kill anybody,” he hissed, closing the door behind him. “Kita-san said-”

“Relax, he’s fine.” The glare of the laptop screen reflected in Suna’s eyes. “He’ll wake up in a couple of hours. By then we’ll be halfway to Hyogo.”

The tap of the keyboard was the only sound in the study as Osamu crouched down beside Kondo. He looked dead at a glance, but his chest rose and fell at a steady pace. A crystal glass had broken on the floor, and Osamu realized the bloody stain was actually red wine.

“What’s takin’ you so long?” asked Osamu, standing to approach Suna. “You said ten minutes was plenty.”

“It would’ve been, if Kondo hadn’t been so focused on my ass that he forgot to drink his spiked wine.” Suna rolled his eyes and fished around in a pocket. He whipped out a USB drive and popped it into the side of Kondo’s laptop. As he started typing again, he said, “I’m asking Kita-san to raise my pay for emotional damages. I’ll never shake off the trauma of Kondo’s hand down my pants.”

Osamu grimaced, although Suna’s huffed laugh suggested he’d been joking. Partially, at least; it was clear from the muss of his hair and his half-unbuttoned shirt that something had happened between them before Kondo passed out.

Osamu didn’t like the thought of it. He considered kicking Kondo in the ribs while he was down, but that wouldn’t be very professional.

He then remembered he wasn’t very professional and stepped toward Kondo to do it anyway, but was distracted when Suna said, “Got it. All his records are here.” He popped the USB drive, waved it at Osamu, and returned it to his pocket. “There’s information about all the people he’s bribed over the years. He must’ve paid somebody a lot of money to encrypt this data, it was hidden pretty well. Too bad he should’ve hired someone better. There’s also a lot of porn, but I don’t think that surprises anyone.” Suna flipped the laptop shut and stood. He smoothed his hair back, rebuttoned his shirt, and said, “You ready to go or do you want to stick around for another drink?”

Osamu thought of Juri, probably waiting for him to return to the great room so she could swoop in again. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s get outta here.”

Suna locked the study door on their way out, so no one would stumble upon Kondo by accident. Osamu led the way through the hall and they were halfway down the staircase when Suna seized a handful of Osamu’s jacket and yanked him back.

“Wha-?”

Suna clamped a hand over Osamu’s mouth and shoved him against the wall. His eyes were sharp even in the darkness, and for a crystal clear and devastating moment, Osamu thought Suna had turned on him.

Before the sting of betrayal had time to set in, Suna’s lips silently shaped the word  _ Listen _ .

Osamu held his breath. From somewhere close came the thump of heavy footsteps.

“He’s coming up the stairs,” said Suna, the whisper right in Osamu’s ear. “If we run he’ll hear us.”

It must have been one of the guards patrolling the inside of the mansion. It wasn’t ideal, but it could have been worse. Osamu could handle one guard easily. He reached into his jacket, fingers brushing the gun strapped beneath before Suna grabbed his wrist and wrenched his hand away.

“No casualties,” hissed Suna.

Before Osamu could say anything, before he could form a single thought, Suna kissed him.

Osamu’s pulse was quick with panic and his fingers itched for his gun, but he buried them in Suna’s hair instead. Suna pressed him into the wall, his grip digging into Osamu’s shirt, tongue slipping into his mouth. It was overwhelming, and Osamu’s senses were so full of Suna that he was barely aware of the scuff of boots as they were found.

The guard cleared his throat awkwardly. “Guests aren’t supposed to be back here.”

Suna broke away from Osamu abruptly, as if he’d only just realized they weren’t alone. He forced a laugh and ducked his head, as if embarrassed. “Right. Sorry. We just wanted a minute alone.” He peeked at Osamu from the corner of his eye and then looked back at the guard. “We’ll go back to the party. Sorry for the trouble.” 

Suna caught Osamu’s hand and tugged him along, down the staircase past the guard. The guard started to say something but Suna kept going. Instead of branching toward the piano music and the buzzing conversations from the great room, they took a shadowed door that led to the side of the house. 

Even when they were alone in the dark hallway, Suna kept hold of Osamu’s hand.

“All we have to do is get by the guards at the front perimeter,” said Suna, his voice low. “It shouldn’t be hard. Since we skipped the valet we can just get to the car and get out of here. If I drive fast we’ll be back just before midnight. I think we did pretty damn good.”

Osamu didn’t reply, but he agreed. He and Suna didn’t make a bad team.

The side door was wired up with a security alarm, but Suna deactivated it in ten seconds flat. They slipped into the cool night air and kept to the shadows as they crept toward the front of the mansion. An arc of cars was parked outside the doors and a lot across the street hosted the rest of the guests’ vehicles. The agency car was near the middle. They just had to get around the outer circle of lights that glowed from the front of the mansion, dash across the street, and get the hell out of Nagoya.

Osamu wondered if Atsumu’s mission was going this well. He and Sakusa were making their move tonight too, although there was no fancy party involved. Osamu wasn’t worried about them. Atsumu was a wildcard at times, but he was good at his job. 

Osamu realized, as they rounded the corner at the front of the mansion, that the person he needed to worry about was himself.

A half dozen guards had convened near the driveway. Their firearms were in their hands instead of concealed beneath their coats and their attention was directly on Osamu and Suna.

They came to a dead stop. Osamu’s hand fell out of Suna’s grip.

Osamu said, “Shit.”

The guard who’d caught them on the staircase was at the front of the group. Clearly he hadn’t believed the story of their secret make out session.

“You should’ve let me shoot him,” said Osamu. His hand twitched for his gun, but he didn’t reach for it. He thought he’d be dead before he got a grip on it.

“Kita-san said no casualties.” Suna didn’t move, but his eyes darted around quickly, looking for a way out. There wasn’t one. The only clear path was to turn around and run toward the back of the mansion, but they could get shot while their backs were turned.

One of the guards said, “Put your hands up and get down on your knees. Nobody has to get hurt.”

“Whataya think?” asked Osamu. His voice was calm, despite the spitfire spike of his heartbeat.

“Not much of a choice,” said Suna. “Red Ferrari?”

“Yeah. Looks the sturdiest.”

“You have to the count of three,” said the guard, more loudly. 

“Maybe the Lamborghini,” said Suna, “just because it’s Kondo’s.”

“One…”

“Nah,” said Osamu, “it’s not close enough.”

“Two…”

“Fine.”

“Three!”

In the same instant, Osamu and Suna ran for the half-circle of cars parked in front of the mansion. Gunfire followed them, quiet enough that Osamu knew the guards had high-dollar silencers. That wasn’t good. It meant they were well-trained.

Osamu skidded behind the Ferrari, one of his knees scraping the asphalt. His gun was already in his hand as Suna plopped down next to him.

“I’ll lay down cover while you get across the street,” said Osamu. He double-checked his magazine, even though he knew it was full. “Once you get to the car, pull it around and I’ll… Suna?”

“Yeah,” said Suna, his voice tight. “I’m listening.”

Suna clutched at his arm, just above the elbow. Scarlet dripped between his fingers. 

“Fuck.” Osamu forgot his plan. He forgot the armed men who were probably edging closer. He forgot everything except the blood on Suna’s hand, the blood soaking into the sleeve of his suit, the blood dripping down his jaw where a bullet had grazed his cheek. “ _ Rin _ .”

“It’s fine,” said Suna, the words sliding through his teeth. “They barely got me.”

“Bullshit.” Osamu knelt in front of Suna and reached out to touch his chin. He tilted Suna’s head to the side, eyeing the bloody scratch. It wasn’t serious, but that bullet had been two inches away from a solid headshot.

“My husband is worried about me,” said Suna, pain creasing his brow as he smiled up at Osamu. “That’s sweet.”

“No conflict, no casualties,” said Osamu, repeating Kita’s words from their briefing. He tapped a finger on the edge of his handgun. “You stopped me from killin’ that guard inside. How about now?”

“They shot me,” said Suna flatly. He wiped his face on the shoulder of his suit. “Fuck ‘em up.”

Despite his spike of panic, despite Suna’s blood dripping onto the asphalt, and despite the cold bite of fury in Osamu’s veins, he grinned. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.”

Osamu’s shoulder hit the pavement hard as he launched into a roll, clearing the bumper of the Ferrari. It hurt probably, but Osamu didn’t feel it. He was in the headspace of  _ fight _ and  _ shoot _ and  _ win _ that erased everything else. 

Kita hadn’t hired Osamu and Atsumu because they were good at covert missions or espionage. He’d hired them because they were good at killing, and he’d thought everything else could be taught.

Two of the guards went down before they had time to react. The shots were perfect. Despite the high stress situation, Osamu’s hands didn’t shake. He leapt behind a different car, fleeing a hail of gunfire and drawing the guards’ attention away from Suna, who still crouched behind the Ferrari. Bullets peppered the vehicle, and Osamu realized with grim satisfaction that it was Kondo’s Lamborghini. He waited there an extra breath, just to cause more damage, before popping over the hood and laying down a blind spray of bullets. The guards stopped shooting to seek cover, and two more of them went down when their backs were turned. 

Osamu popped the magazine out of his gun, shoved it into his pocket, and reloaded. The click of it sliding home was a lethal comfort, and the snap of the slide as it trapped a fresh bullet was more soothing than the gentle piano music in the great room. 

Maybe that music had stopped when the gunfight had started, or maybe the shots weren’t loud enough for the guests to hear. Osamu wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care enough to wonder. He was down to two guards, which meant he was home free. One armed Miya was worth five of anyone else.

They were dead within minutes. One of them peered over the top of a car to check Osamu’s position and got a bullet through the forehead. The other cowered behind one of the landscaping shrubs. He dropped his gun as Osamu approached, but that didn’t save him. Maybe this was the guard who shot Suna, and maybe it wasn’t. He died anyway.

When Osamu returned to the Ferrari, Suna was on his feet, still holding his arm. He seemed steady, but Osamu kept a hand on his shoulder as they crossed the street. Suna fumbled the car keys out of his pocket and Osamu snatched them away from him.

“I’ll drive,” said Osamu. “We’ve gotta get out of the city. Are you good or should I patch you up before we go?”

“I’m fine.” Suna said it like he meant it, and Osamu had to trust him. “You sure you want to drive? Kita-san told you not to.”

“Kita-san also didn’t know this was gonna happen. Get in.”

They were twenty minutes away from the mansion, headed out of the city, when Suna spoke again.

“Hey, Osamu?”

Osamu glanced over, worried that Suna’s injury was getting worse, but he appeared fine. “Yeah?”

The city lights splashed across Suna’s face. It was still bloody, but he smiled. “I didn’t know my husband was such a good shot. I should’ve married you sooner.”

Osamu laughed, and all of the night’s tension vanished into the air whispering through the half-open car windows.

Three days ago, Osamu had despised Suna Rintarou. 

Now he couldn’t remember what that had felt like.


End file.
